


i've been afraid of changing (because i've built my life around you)

by StoriesofmyLife



Series: shades of healing [2]
Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series), Karate Kid (Movies)
Genre: 1980's, 80's, All Valley Tournament, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Dorks in Love, Falling In Love, Fleetwood Mac References, M/M, New Years Eve, Not Canon Compliant, References to 80's Music, Smut, Teen Romance, Teenage Lawrusso, Teenage Universe, Teenagers, What could've been, What happens after Karate Kid Part 1, growing together, lawrusso, underage smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:21:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 32,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26491813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StoriesofmyLife/pseuds/StoriesofmyLife
Summary: Johnny has always had a hot temper, Kreese just taught him how to use it. How to focus that anger into his fists, into his kicks, rather than keep it at the forefront of his mind so it clouded his vision and he couldn't think straight. It was a fine line that Kreese was only too happy to teach Johnny how to walk.Without Kreese at his back to fan the flames, Johnny had thought some of that anger would fade. But the truth was, Johnny is more angry now that he ever remembers being in his life. And without Cobra Kai, he’s got no outlet for it anymore. And that terrifies him more than he wants to admit.~Or-- Johnny's figuring out how to find his balance--without Cobra Kai, without karate and without Kreese--with a few stumbles and missteps along the way.
Relationships: Bobby Brown & Johnny Lawrence, Daniel LaRusso & Johnny Lawrence, Daniel LaRusso & Mr. Miyagi, Daniel LaRusso/Ali Mills (past), Daniel LaRusso/Johnny Lawrence, John Kreese & Johnny Lawrence, Johnny Lawrence/Ali Mills (past)
Series: shades of healing [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1908265
Comments: 86
Kudos: 407





	1. and if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills...

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello! First of all, I would just like to say a huge, massive THANK YOU to all of you who took the time to read the first part of this series. Seriously, the response was absolutely overwhelming and I'm completely blown away by how well the first story did. Second of all, this second part turned out to be a lot longer than I had originally anticipated--so much that I decided to separate it into two parts. I didn't want to keep you guys waiting any longer. I'm almost finished with the second chapter to this and I hope to have it posted by the end of this week or the beginning of next week.
> 
> I've fallen in love with this fandom and these characters and I'm so excited to share this second part of Daniel and Johnny's story with you. This one is in Johnny's point of view and I had such a blast writing things from his perspective and I hope I did him justice. 
> 
> A few things: 
> 
> There will be SEX and quite a bit of it. 
> 
> The word fag is also used a few times--which is a word I hate--but also one that I feel like would be a pretty common slur for the time of this story taking place. 
> 
> There's also mentions of abuse--not between our two main squeezes, but between Johnny and Sid. 
> 
> This story was edited by me, but they're might still be some mistakes, so please, be kind. 
> 
> And in true Karate Kid fashion, this story picks up right where the last one left off :) Enjoy!
> 
> Title from both stories are taken shamelessly from fleetwood mac songs :)

Johnny wakes up warm. Almost uncomfortably so—like he fell asleep with too many layers on and decided to cuddle a furnace. 

He’s also laying on something hard. And… _bony._ And it smells earthy like— _pine,_ his sleep fogged brain supplies, _it smells like pine. And ginger—tea? And sweat._

HIs eyes flutter open slowly—well, one opens easily, the other one hurts like a _sonofabitch_ and it takes him a few tries and a few blinks until it stays open. His head is aching and he feels wrung out and sore, like he went ten rounds with Rocky Balboa and all he has to show for it is the giant ass bruise that is his entire body. 

Johnny blinks, confused, propping himself up on his elbow as he looks around the room and comes to the realization that he’s not at home, in _his_ room, in _his_ bed, like he should be. He’s in someone else’s room and it takes him an embarrassingly long time to come up with an answer as to where he is. It’s not until his eyes land on a giant trophy sitting on the small desk shoved up against the only window in the room, glinting bright and shiny gold in the early morning sunlight peaking through the blinds, that he realizes where, _exactly,_ he ended up last night. 

He’s in Daniel LaRusso’s room, in Daniel LaRusso’s bed and if the bony thing poking into his cheek is anything to go by, Johnny’s currently using Daniel LaRusso as a body pillow. Or, more accurately, judging by the arms wrapped around Johnny’s middle, Daniel’s using _him_ as some sort of teddy bear and Johnny…doesn’t mind it. Not that he’d admit to that out loud, anyway. 

He just wishes he remembers _how_ they ended up like this—squished together like sardines in a vacuum sealed container on Daniel’s tiny ass twin bed. 

They’re both wearing clothes—Johnny’s in sweats that are a little too snug and a t-shirt that’s at least a size too small, undoubtedly Daniel’s, _the skinny twerp_ , Johnny thinks with an amused twitch to his lips. Daniel’s own t-shirt is worn and soft underneath Johnny’s cheek and it smells like fabric softener and the pine soap he knows Daniel uses and the ginger tea Daniel drank before bed and something that must just be all _Daniel._ And he can’t see it for himself, but Johnny’s willing to bet that Daniel’s wearing boxers underneath the navy blue sheets that lay rumpled around his waist. 

_So I didn’t get laid,_ Johnny thinks and he finds himself oddly relieved and disappointed with the deduction. 

But that train of thought pokes at something in his brain, bringing back flashes—lips and teeth and _heat—_ and with the flashes, comes the floodgate of memories—of Sid and his fists, his mother’s yelling, the blind anger that made his hands twitch with that familiar itch to hit something, to make something hurt just as much he was. Worried brown eyes, soft hands on his bare skin as they cleaned him up and chased away the memories of harsh blows from crueler hands. Insults and heated words. Soft lips and whispered promises in the dark with only the glow from the Christmas tree. 

Johnny shifts, his morning erection throbbing at the memories of those lips— _Daniel’s lips_ , plush and warm and soft and demanding against his. The sounds he made, the feeling of having him trapped underneath Johnny’s body, under his hands, feeling him squirm and grind his hips against Johnny. The rush—the friction, the sheer _want_ that had pulsed through every vein in his body—damn near made him cum on the spot like some inexperienced virgin. 

Johnny can feel himself leaking in his boxers and he groans quietly, shuffling away from Daniel’s body, even though it puts him in danger of falling off the edge of the bed.

Daniel shifts, a soft sound of protest leaving his lips and it prompts Johnny to look up, a grin stretching across his lips when he sees the frustrated crinkle between Daniel’s eyebrows, frown on his lips. As an experiment, Johnny shuffles back, molding his body back into Daniel’s, just like it was when he first woke up. 

Daniel’s arms flex around Johnny’s waist, tightening momentarily before they relax, almost like he’s checking that Johnny’s still there, confirming it for himself. The crinkle between his eyebrows disappears, the frown smoothing back into a tantalizing, sleepy pout that Johnny wants to kiss and almost does, but then he gets a look at the dark circles underneath Daniel’s closed eyes and thinks better of it. 

He knows Daniel’s been having trouble sleeping—from the pain and having to stay stationary in his sleep so he doesn't aggravate his knee too much. Guilt swells in Johnny’s chest, not for the first time, at the thought of Daniel struggling because of something he had a hand in causing. 

Bobby may have been the one to cause the original injury, but it was _Johnny’s_ fault that Daniel had to be in that tournament to begin with. It was _Johnny’s_ fault that Daniel had to even cross paths with Kreese and rise to his challenge. It was _Johnny’s_ fault that Daniel felt the need to even take up karate, just so he could defend himself, because _Johnny_ couldn't just…let something go. Let someone— _Ali_ —go. 

He can picture the look of horror on Ali’s face that night at the beach— _fight me,_ she had said as she stood in front of Daniel, who lay crumpled and bruised in the sand, _why don’t you fight me instead?_ she challenged, face twisted in disgust. _This is bullshit, Johnny, fight me!_

And what scared him the most, at that moment, was the desire to rise to that challenge, to answer her with his fists. He remembers hearing Kreese’s voice, shouting in his ear, _NO MERCY! DON’T BE WEAK, JOHNNY! COBRA’S AREN’T WEAK!_ He remembers the way his hands twitched at his sides, the rush of blood in his ears, the ache in his muscles from being coiled so tightly, ready to strike. 

What stopped him was the fear he saw in her eyes and it had made him sick to his stomach. He remembers stumbling away, back to his bike and riding as far from her as he could get. He’d damn near given himself alcohol poisoning that night, trying to drown the memories away. 

Daniel shifts, breaking Johnny out of his morose thoughts. His gaze flickers down to watch the way Daniel’s lips move as he murmurs something in his sleep, too low for Johnny to hear. Daniel settles, his head turned towards Johnny and Johnny takes the opportunity to stare, unabashedly, at the sight Daniel makes this early in the morning. 

Johnny has never used the word _beautiful_ to describe another dude before, but there was no other word that would even come close to explaining how Daniel looks to Johnny, in this moment.

The light filtering in through the crack in the blinds casts Daniel’s face in a warm, golden glow, making his already tan skin gleam a smooth russet brown. His inky black eyelashes are long and curled in a way that Johnny knows most girls would kill to achieve and they cast spiderweb shadows on his round cheeks that are flushed pink from sleep. Johnny loses himself in the slope of his nose, the angle of his jaw, the way his lips seem to always be set in a slight pout, the way they form a perfect cupid’s bow. The way his dark hair curls at the ends and falls across his forehead as he dreams. The way his chest rises and falls with each soft exhale as he sleeps on, completely unaware and vulnerable to the world around him. 

Johnny could lay there for hours, memorizing every dip and curve of Daniel’s face and it still wouldn't feel like enough. 

Daniel shifts again, lashes fluttering, before sleepy brown eyes find Johnny’s and he watches, with bated breath, as those plush pouty lips frown in confusion before they stretch into an equally as sleepy smile. 

“G’mornin’,” Daniel murmurs, closing his eyes as he snuggles into his pillow and Johnny’s chest, by default. 

Johnny’s never understood the term _morning voice_ before, but he understands it now. And what a _glorious_ term it is. Daniel’s voice is low and raspy from sleep, heavy with fatigue and his Jersey accent is thicker, curling harshly around the vowel sounds and it’s— _hot._

_Huh_

“Morning,” Johnny murmurs in reply, reaching out a tentative hand to cup Daniel’s jaw, letting his thumb stroke over the curve of Daniel’s cheekbone. 

Daniel leans into the touch, humming, the sound an almost satisfied _purr._ It makes Johnny smile. 

Daniel watches him, biting his bottom lip and Johnny finds himself fascinated with the way those teeth tug and pull at the soft skin, the way it makes blood rush to the surface and turn them even _redder._

A rush of possessiveness washes over him and Johnny flicks his gaze back up to find Daniel still watching him, eyes dark, wanting, beckoning Johnny closer and he can’t help but fall victim to it. 

_Strike first, strike hard,_ Johnny thinks to himself wryly. 

Their lips brush together, tentative, almost shy in comparison to the bruising kisses they shared last night. It’s soft and their lips are dry, but Johnny solves this by swiping his tongue along Daniel’s lower lip, groaning when Daniel parts his lips and lets Johnny in. 

Daniel’s mouth is warm and tastes like sleep and stale toothpaste, but Johnny doesn't care, just plunders his mouth, wanting to memorize every ridge and groove for himself. Daniel responds eagerly, tangling his tongue with Johnny’s and Johnny can feel his inexperience but Daniel’s a quick learner and soon, he’s meeting Johnny stroke for stroke, suck for suck. Fire sparks in Johnny’s veins, heating his lower belly and his morning erection, that’s been hanging in there since he woke up, twitches to life, straining against the seam of the sweatpants, making them all the more tighter. 

That possessive feeling returns and magnifies the longer their lips stay locked together. Johnny wants to be the only one who gets to feel Daniel likes this—hot and squirming underneath him, gasping and groaning with arousal, hips bucking, a silent plea for more that Johnny is only too happy to oblige. 

Their lips part for air, but Johnny isn’t done, doesn't want his lips to leave Daniel’s body. He trails kisses down Daniel’s jaw, sucking a bruise where his jaw slopes into his neck, nips and teases the sensitive skin with his teeth, soothing it with gentle laves of his tongue. 

Daniel’s hands are tangled in Johnny’s hair and when they tug him back up, back to his lips, all demanding and assertive, Johnny can’t help but let out an appreciative moan that Daniel swallows with his lips. 

Their hips begin an easy grind, erections brushing together with every buck of their hips and it’s not perfect—the angle’s a little weird and there’s too many layers, but Johnny’s so keyed up, between last night and now, with Daniel rutting against him, nails scratching into his scalp, he’s going to cum embarrassingly quick. 

But his ego won’t let him be the first one to give in, so he slides a hand down Daniel’s chest, flicks his thumb over a clothed nipple, smirking against kiss swollen lips when it makes Daniel shudder and whimper. He teases his fingers against the smooth skin of Daniel’s belly, a silent question that Daniel answers by grabbing Johnny’s hand in his own and sliding underneath the waist band of his boxers and together, they grip Daniel’s leaking erection, punching a moan from Daniel’s lips that sounds like a mixture between pleasure and pain. 

“Show me what you want, Danny,” Johnny whispers against his lips, groaning when Daniel’s hand guides his into the first stroke without an ounce of hesitation. Johnny tightens his grip experimentally and Daniel whimpers, bucking his hips into the circle of their shared fists. “Like that?”

Daniel nods, lashes fluttering against his cheek. “Yes,” he breathes, quickening their shared strokes. “Just like that— _fuck.”_

Daniel continues to guide him and while Johnny’s sure he can manage on his own—after all, he knows how to handle a dick, he’s got one himself—there’s something so _hot_ about this: Daniel, showing him what he likes, how he wants it, using Johnny to get himself off. Johnny just lets it happen, content with watching the way Daniel’s cheeks flush, the way he seems to be incapable of being quiet—which, Johnny thinks himself with a grin, is no surprise—moans tapering off into breathless pants and whimpers keening and high and Johnny closes his eyes, grinding his cock into Daniel’s hip and just lets himself feel—Daniel’s cock, a warm and wet weight in his palm, Daniel’s hand on top of his, hot and calloused, Daniel’s lips as they brush over his ear, the feeling of his warm breath brushing against the sensitive skin of Johnny’s neck. 

Johnny’s world has narrowed down to Daniel—his touch, his taste, his sounds, his smell. Nothing but _DanielDanielDannyDanny—_

“Johnny,” Daniel pants, breathless and pleading. 

“I’ve got you, Danny,” Johnny promises, pressing a kiss to Daniel’s lips. “I’ve got you, baby.”

Daniel’s cheeks get redder at the pet name and Johnny files that away for later, but for now—

On the next upstroke, Johnny flicks his wrist, swiping his thumb across the leaking head the way he likes and Daniel shudders, body going taught as he comes with a shout of Johnny’s name that Johnny tries to swallow with his lips, smirking in satisfaction as he feels Daniel’s body shake and tremble with the force of his orgasm. 

And Daniel’s face—cheeks red, hair damp with sweat, lips parted as he gasps and whimpers is enough to tip Johnny over the edge with a groan that he muffles by biting into the soft skin of Daniel’s shoulder, coming messily into his boxers.

They lay there together, panting and sweaty, floating together in their shared bliss until Daniel nudges at Johnny with his bony ass shoulder. 

“You’re heavy as shit,” Daniel informs him, still breathless, as Johnny rolls over. 

Johnny wipes his cum covered hand on Daniel’s shirt in response, smirking when Daniel protests. Loudly. 

“Aw, c’mon man, that’s nasty—“

Johnny shrugs, blissed out and relaxed. “It’s your cum, dude.”

Daniel grumbles, sitting up to yank the shirt off over his head, careful to avoid getting streaks of cum on his face. 

Even though he just came not even five minutes ago, Johnny can feel the stirring in his lower belly, hot and unyielding, at all the new tan skin on display, mentally giving himself a pat on the back for the unplanned, but otherwise satisfactory side effects of his impulsive decision. 

Daniel lays back down, curling into Johnny’s side and Johnny takes his weight easily, fingers find their way into the inky black strands that are slightly sweaty, but so soft that Johnny can’t find it in himself to care. 

They lay there together for a while and it’s the most peaceful Johnny’s felt in a long time. His mind is still hazy and relaxed from his orgasm, blocking out any of the aches and pains he’d woken up with and his muscles feel worn and stretched out, the good type of fatigue that comes with either a really good work out or really good sex. Or both, if done right. 

Eventually, he can feel Daniel’s muscles become taught with tension and he beings to shift and move, trying to get comfortable despite the pain. 

“Is your knee bothering you?” Johnny asks softly, lips brushing against Daniel’s forehead. 

Daniel nods, face pinched with pain and Johnny careful extracts himself from the bed, reaching over to the night stand to thumb out two pain pills, handing Daniel the glass of water he’d brought to bed with him last night to wash them down. 

Daniel takes them with a grateful smile, dry swallowing them in that odd way that he does before he sips his water, eyeing Johnny over the rim of his glass. Or more specifically, the spectacle that Johnny was sure his facewas. 

Shame slithered like snakes in the pit of Johnny’s stomach and he can feel the age old urge to snap, say something poisonous and cutting to get Daniel to back off and divert his concern, over take him, thrum through his veins, making his fist clench—

_You’re weak, Johnny, pathetic. Cobra’s aren’t weak, do you hear me Mr. Lawrence? I said COBRA’S AREN’T WEA—_

“It’s not fair, you know,” Daniel says, pulling Johnny from his thoughts. 

Johnny raises an eyebrow in question and Daniel elaborates, waving his hand in the vague direction of Johnny’s face and for a moment, Johnny thinks he’s going to try and get Johnny to talk more about it and he opens his mouth, the shame turning into anger and—

“—how pretty your face is, even with the bruises.” 

—Johnny’s mouth snaps shut, eyes narrowing. Daniel’s cheeks are flushed bright red and he’s biting his bottom lip and there’s this twinkle in eyes that some how makes them look even bigger and browner and _wait a minute—_

“You flirtin’ with me, LaRusso?” Johnny demands, a slow smile spreading across his lips. 

Daniel shrugs, bats his eyelashes—like no shit, he actually bats his fuckin’ eyelashes like some Hollywood starlet—and puts the full force of those brown eyes into this _come hither_ look that makes Johnny’s cock twitch in his ruined boxers and has any laughter bubbling in his chest dying out before it could even begin. 

“That depends,” Daniel murmurs, leaning into Johnny’s personal space, long fingers trailing teasingly through the blonde hairs on Johnny’s forearm, sending a shiver racing down Johnny’s spine. “Is it working?”

Daniel smells like sweat and sex and Johnny’s faded cologne and it’s— _intoxicating._

Johnny swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing heavily in his throat, all earlier annoyance and memories of Sid gone for the time being. 

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, LaRusso,” Johnny murmurs. “But I’m kind of a sure thing.”

Daniel hums, a coy smile dancing on his lips. “Oh yeah?”

Johnny nods, eyes tracing Daniel’s lips, belly heating when he notes that they’re still flushed and bruised from his lips, from _his_ kisses. “Yeah,” he finds himself saying. 

Johnny wonders if it’s crazy that he already wants to kiss them again, trace them with his tongue, taste his name spilling from them while he makes Daniel cum, _againandagainandagain—_

“Great, then you get to help me with my shower.” Daniel informs him with a grin, rolling out of bed with a surprising amount of finesse for someone down a leg. 

Johnny finds himself momentarily distracted by the set of Daniel’s shoulders, the slope of his back, the way his muscles shift and ripple as he situates himself on his crutches, the way his back curves into the swell of his ass—

“Wait, shower?” Johnny asks, blinking up at a smirking Daniel. “What do you need my help for?”

“Uh, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m kinda down a leg here,” Daniel says, nodding down to his knee that’s still wrapped up nice and snug in an ace bandage. “So unless you want to clean up my blood from the floor when I slip and fall and bust my head open—“

“Wait you want _me—_ “ Johnny points to himself dumbly, making Daniel’s lips twitch. “—to shower with you? Like, me and you—“ Johnny swallows, pictures Daniel’s tan skin, all wet and soapy, water sluicing down his body in tiny little rivulets—

“I mean, you don’t have to,” Daniel offers, some of his bravado fading, replaced with a shyness that Johnny finds oddly attractive. “It’s just easier if I have help.”

Johnny smirks, slow and sensual—the one that makes all the babes swoon. “You feeding me a line right now?”

Daniel flushes, out of embarrassment or annoyance, Johnny can’t tell, but it makes his smirk widen. 

“Fine, asshole, but if I brain myself on the edge of the tub, you get to explain to my mother why I was in there by myself to begin with—“

Johnny rolls his eyes, sighing long and suffering and ignoring his own nervous butterflies fluttering anxiously in his belly, he heads towards the door, pausing with his hand on the door handle. He looks over his shoulder when he doesn’t hear the telltale _clickclickclick_ of Daniel’s crutches behind him, raising an eyebrow. 

“You coming?” 

Daniel mutters something underneath his breath before he follows Johnny into the hallway. 

(Johnny’s not one hundred percent sure, but it sounded like Daniel said “hopefully” and those butterflies turn into the slow waves of arousal and suddenly, he’s not so nervous about this shower anymore). 

And it also takes Johnny a minute to realize he’s no longer thinking of Sid or Kreese or the bruises the mar his body, even if they do kind of ache a little. It’s also the quickest someone has ever managed to dig him out of a downward spiral and all it took was LaRusso being, well, _LaRusso._

Johnny doesn't really know what to do with that information, so like most things, he ignores it. 

For now. 

*

There’s a crucifix above the toilet. 

As many times as Johnny’s been over here, he’s never noticed it before, but now, as Daniel hops, one legged as he wiggles out of his boxers, it’s all Johnny can concentrate on. 

He’s not even looking at it, but he can _feel_ Jesus’s eyes on him, burning into the back of his neck as Johnny tries to focus on wrapping Daniel’s knee in saran wrap for him, careful to avoid _certain_ things for fear of being smite-d right there on the spot. 

Johnny’s not like, religious or anything, but the thought of doing certain _activities_ with Jesus watching makes his skin crawl. 

Daniel must notice it, because he raises an eyebrow when Johnny tosses the box of off-brand _Glad_ on to the vanity with a little more force than was warranted. 

“What’s eatin’ you?” Daniel demands as he, _very_ carefully and _very_ slowly, steps over the lip of the tub to get into the shower. The steam is already billowing out from behind the half open curtain, little drips of water splashing onto the tiled floor and Johnny makes a note to be the first one out of the shower, so he can mop any wetness up so Daniel doesn't slip. 

“Are you religious?” Johnny blurts out, feeling his cheeks flush when _both_ of Daniel’s eyebrows raise. 

“Like, do I believe in God or whatever?” Daniel asks, cocking his head to the side. Daniel reminds Johnny of a confused puppy—all big curious eyes, head titled, like he’s trying to figure out a difficult puzzle. 

Johnny wishes him luck because even he can’t figure himself out. 

“I mean, isn't that kind of what religion is?” Johnny asks in a voice that suggests Daniel might be a bit slow on the uptake. He doesn't mean it the way it sounds, it’s just, Johnny really doesn’t know _what_ he’s asking and he’s kind of confused and Jesus is still staring at him and it’s just— _creepy._

Like _why_ , in the ever loving _fuck,_ would you put a crucifix over a _toilet?_ Does it help with exercising the demons while you’re taking a shit? Help with kidney flow? It’s kind of like Bobby’s mom, who has all sorts of motivational quotes in their house. There’s a quote, across from the toilet in the guest bathroom, in a cheesy wooden frame that says _if you want the rainbow, you have put up with a little rain._

Like, was that pissing metaphor? Why would you have that in your bathroom?

Johnny also wants to know why _now_ , of all times, he’s standing here, thinking of cheesy quotes; when he’s got Daniel, naked as the day he was born, tan skin glistening from the heat of the shower, steam trickling around his ankles—looking, for all intents and purposes, like he’s auditioning to be the next _Fabio_ or whatever the ripped Italian’s guy name is that poses on the cover of all those bodice rippers novels Johnny’s caught his mom reading

_My Secret Sacrilegious Shower Seduction: an erotic novel by Johnny Lawrence. Cover by Daniel LaRusso._

Johnny has to bite back a nervous giggle at the thought. 

(In all his memories from the night before, Johnny can’t recall Daniel checking him for a concussion. He wonders, now, if that wasn’t an oversight on their part or if he’s really _that_ freaked out about taking a shower with Daniel while Jesus watches, probably through the curtain, with his freaky Jesus vision. The creep would probably like _it._ Crucifixes were a Catholic thing, after all. Weren’t they? Johnny isn’t sure. He also wonders if maybe he shouldn’t of made a gay Catholic joke in the presence of Jesus).

_Get a fucking grip, Lawrence,_ Johnny thinks to himself.

Daniel actually looks to be considering the question and Johnny appreciates that. He’s not sure why he’s so concerned about the answer to this question, but all jokes aside, it kind of matters if they were going to do _—whatever_ it is this was between them. 

Johnny may not be religious, but even he knows that this was dangerous. This may be California, but it wasn’t all West Hollywood. There were people that would give them shit for whatever _this_ was between them. Never mind what kind of shit Daniel might get if his family found out, because bullies were one thing, Johnny knew they could handle themselves it came down to it, but Jesus freaks were a whole ‘nother breed when it came to the fag shit. 

Johnny may not care that much, but _Daniel_ might and Johnny…can’t, _won’t_ put Daniel through that. 

(At least, Johnny doesn't _think_ it bothers him that much)

He’s also _really_ getting ahead of himself here, too, he realizes. They’ve only kissed a few times (multiple times) and while they both got off, so far, Johnny’s the only one that’s touched a dick that didn’t belong to him. He’s not against Daniel touching his dick, it’s just, _baby steps_. He doesn’t even know if Daniel _wants_ to touch his dick. 

_God,_ Johnny thinks to himself miserably, _when did I turn into such a fucking weepy ass girl?_

“I think,” Daniel says finally, slowly, voice considering. “that I believe in _something._ I’m just not sure what that something is.”

“Well _gee_ , thanks for clearing _that_ up, LaRusso,” Johnny says dryly, but he can’t deny the amount of relief that sweeps through him at the answer that wasn’t exactly an answer. It’s not a flat out _no_ , but it’s also not a resounding _yes,_ either and Johnny can live with that. 

Suddenly, Jesus doesn’t seem so judge-y. 

“Well, I don’t know,” Daniel huffs, face twisting into a grimace when he has to lift his bad knee over the lip of the tub. Johnny rests a hand on his shoulder, just as much to steady him as it is an excuse to touch the damp, warm skin on display— _sue him_ , Johnny may not be a _complete_ self-serving asshole, but he’s not a _complete_ saint, either. 

Johnny follows him in only when he’s sure Daniel’s got a decent grip on the shower wall. He may be enjoying the view a bit too much, but Johnny’s also taking his job as lifeguard seriously. Daniel isn’t going to slip, not on Johnny’s watch.

Daniel still looks contemplative, so Johnny takes it upon himself to find something to start washing Daniel with, snorting when spots the pink loofa hanging from a little hook next to the soap dish. Daniel raises an eyebrow, almost as if daring Johnny to say something and while he _really_ wants to, he’s trying hard to _not_ be an asshole all the time. So he settles for a smirk as he grabs the soap and rubbing too much on to the loofa, rubbing it between his hands to get it all sudsy and starts washing Daniel’s body.

Daniel hums an appreciative sound, face melting into a relaxed, lazy expression that reminds Johnny of _earlier—_ Daniel underneath him, lips swollen and bruised from kissing, cock hard in Johnny’s hands— and he feels himself harden in response, but he ignores it. 

_For now_ , at least. 

“If you really want an answer,” Daniel begins, voice soft, so soft Johnny steps closer to hear him over the _pitter patter_ of the water hitting the fiberglass. “I think my answer is: I was raised to believe in God. And maybe, at one point, I did, but now,” Daniel shrugs, chewing on his lip in a way that’s very distracting, considering their situation and all, “I don’t think I believe in God so much as I believe in the universe. In the things that make it up as a whole—plants, flowers, the ocean, you, me, _us.”_

Daniel smiles, huffing a laugh. “Mr. Miyagi is always tellin’ me about balance—how it’s more than just a term used in karate. How you have to have balance in life, in yourself, in your relationships, with the world. That if you don’t have balance, you’ll always feel like there’s this… _piece_ missin’. Like you’re not whole or somethin’. Unsteady, shaky. Like you’ll never be strong enough to take the shit life throws at you, if you’ve got that piece of you missin’.” Daniel shrugs, cheeks flush with more than just the heat from the shower. “Maybe it’s all bullshit, but all I know is that it makes more sense to me than anythin’ I learned in the pews of a church when my ma would make go.”

Daniel shrugs again, but he won’t meet Johnny’s eyes, like he’s bracing himself for Johnny to tease him or make fun of him. Maybe poke fun at his sensei for such hippy-dippy bullshit and maybe, once upon a time, Johnny would’ve. 

But he thinks of everything that’s happened over the last few weeks—with Kreese, Daniel, Ali, _himself._ The anger that’s always just _there,_ simmering right below the surface, ready to be called upon at any slight inconvenience. 

Ali had said something to him, the day she broke up with him, that had confused the absolute _shit_ out of him at the time and the weeks afterwards.

_Everything’s a fight for you, Johnny,_ she had said, in a voice that sounded so tired and worn out, like maybe she’d been fighting for a long time, too. _It’s like you look at the world and all you see is winning or losing._

_I won you,_ he remembers saying, trying for sweet and charming, but Ali had just given him a smile filled with so much _pity_ that Johnny had wondered just who she felt more sorry for. Him, for not getting the point or herself, for putting up with him for so long. 

_That’s the thing, Johnny,_ she had said in that same tired voice, _I’m not some trophy for you to win and put on a shelf for everyone to see. I’m a person, Johnny, not some fight you had to pick just to prove you could win._

He’s never really sure what that meant, until now. 

“I don’t think it’s bullshit,” Johnny whispers. 

Daniel blinks up at him, eyes wide and hopeful. “Really?”

Johnny swallows heavily, thinking, again, of these last few months—these last few years, really—how it always felt like he was chasing after something he never had a hope of catching up to. How, even when he won every fight he managed to get himself into, it never really felt like _winning._ How it never really filled the ache of _not enough_ that he’s been carrying with him ever since his mom married Sid and his life turned into this _shit show_ that he has no hope of ever getting himself out of.

“Really,” Johnny says, this time with more conviction. 

Daniel grins, bright and beautiful, like the sun peaking over the horizon after a long day of rain and for the first time in a while, Johnny feels at peace. 

More… _balanced._

_Huh_

Maybe the old man’s on to something.

*

They don’t end up messing around in the shower and rather than be disappointed about it, Johnny finds himself relieved. After their rather heavy discussion, Johnny’s left with the sensation of feeling too open, too raw, to really focus on anything that’s not making sure Daniel doesn't split his head open and getting both of them cleaned up.

Daniel must sense something’s off—he’s annoyingly perceptive and Johnny finds himself more relieved by it than annoyed and that, in and of itself, is _weird—_ because he doesn’t try and break the silence or even try to start anything remotely sexual. He just lets Johnny…do whatever Johnny needs to do. 

He does start to hum, though, a song Johnny doesn't recognize, but it’s low and soothing and he keeps it up until they make it back to Daniel’s room. 

Johnny slips back into his jeans he kicked off on the floor last night and he’s trying to find his shirt when he hears Daniel let out a soft gasp of pain.

Johnny looks over his shoulder, opening his mouth to ask him what’s wrong, but the words die on his tongue when he sees the source of Daniel’s pain. 

Johnny’s never seen Daniel’s knee without the ace bandage wrapped snugly around it and the image he’s had in his mind and what it looks like, he’s finding, are two very, _very_ different things. 

The incision is still raised and red, starting at the bottom of Daniel’s thigh and ends about two inches under his knee, not stitched together, but _stapled_ together every few centimeters. From here, Johnny counts twelve.There’s bruising around the entire wound, in various stages of healing and his knee doesn't really resemble a _knee,_ more like a massive, swollen lump that blends from his thigh to his shin. And if that’s not enough, a few of the staples have popped loose and look like they had been bleeding through the night. 

And it could've only come from one thing, Johnny thinks to himself, feeling the bile rise in his throat. 

In his mind, he’s back in the bed of Miyagi’s truck, can feel Daniel’s hand reach out and rest on his knee, feels himself strike without thinking, shoving Daniel away. In his mind, it was Sid reaching out to him, it was Sid touching him and Johnny had just… _reacted_ without thinking. He remembers realizing, too late, that it was _Daniel_ reaching out to him. It was _Daniel_ touching him. He remembers Daniel’s sharp cry of pain, the _thunk_ of his knee hitting the side of the truck, _hard._ The feeling of Daniel not breathing under Johnny’s hands. 

Johnny feels like he’s genuinely going to be sick. 

But then there’s a hand, reaching out to him, curling around his wrist, grounding him back to the present. Johnny swallows around the lump in his throat, raising his eyes to meet Daniel’s, who is already watching him.

The guilt brings Johnny to his knees in front of Daniel, coming face to face with the consequences of his own actions, something Daniel will have to bear for the rest of his life in the form of a scar and knee that will never be the same again. 

Johnny can remember the way the knee gave underneath his elbow, can remember feeling the bone break, the muscles rip, the soft _pop_ of cartilage snapping in his ears, even over the roar of the crowd. The feeling of satisfaction. The dawning horror at what he’d done when he stepped away and saw Daniel, lying face down on the mat, face screwed up in agony. 

Bobby may have delivered the initial blow, but Johnny delivered the kill shot.

And it was only made worse, once again, by Johnny. 

_You’re nothing, you lost, you’re a loser_

Hands, warm and soft, cup Johnny’s face. Thumbs, calloused and gentle, wipe at the tears that Johnny was completely unaware of shedding. 

“Hey,” Daniel murmurs, eyes liquid pools of brown. “I’m okay.”

It’s an echo of the first time Johnny had stopped by. Johnny, unable to put into words how sorry he was, how much he hated himself for doing this, how much he wished he could take it back. And Daniel, _Daniel fuckin’ LaRusso_ , had stood there, high off his ass on pain pills and told Johnny the same lie he’s telling him now. 

“Seriously,” Daniel continues, voice filled with a gentle teasing. “I was supposed to get ‘em out today anyways, you just saved the doctor a few steps.”

“ _Don’t_ —“ Johnny starts, voice harsh, but he stops himself. Takes a breath. Takes another. When the fire stops burning in his veins and his temper tapers off into embers, he tries again, softening his voice. “Please, don’t—don’t joke about this, Danny.”

Daniel bites his lip, but nods and Johnny can read the apology in his eyes, see the guilty set of his chin. 

Johnny has a million apologies on the tip of his tongue, a million excuses, but it doesn't seem like enough. So he does the next best thing. 

Grabbing the first aid kit Daniel must’ve brought in here last night, Johnny grabs what he needs and sets it down next to him on the floor. Taking a breath, he looks up at Daniel and asks the question that’s been burning at the back of his mind since Daniel had first let him into his life, all those weeks ago. 

“Do you trust me?” Johnny whispers. 

And without even hesitating to think it over, Daniel answers him, equally as soft, “Yes,” and maybe, just to make sure Johnny believes him, he adds, “Yeah, Johnny, I trust you.”

It feels like a redemption, a second chance at having something worthwhile and Johnny grabs onto it with both hands. 

“Then let me take care of you.”

*

Johnny takes his time, cleaning the dried blood from around the staples with alcohol wipes, soothing the burn by blowing gently over the damp skin that’s a few shades lighter than the rest of Daniel’s leg. He can feel Daniel’s eyes, watching him from above, as Johnny measures and cuts the gauze before he lays it over the incision. Shivers when Johnny’s thumb rubs over the tape, smoothing it into place over Daniel’s skin, to make sure the gauze doesn’t go anywhere. Re-positions his leg so Johnny can start the slow process of re-wrapping the ace bandage around and around, protecting his handiwork and the wound from the outside world. 

When he’s done, Johnny presses his lips one, two, _three,_ times gently, softly, on the inside of Daniel’s knee. 

An apology. 

A request for forgiveness. 

And a promise, that he’ll never do it again. 

And when Daniel smiles back at him with a mixture of exasperation and fondness, Johnny grins back and the imaginary weight that he’s been carrying since the tournament—since that night at the beach, really—feels a little bit lighter, a little bit easier to hold. 

*

Daniel makes him breakfast, despite Johnny’s protests that he should be resting, but Daniel waves him off and tells him to kindly shut up, declining any offers from Johnny to help. 

So Johnny watches from his position on a bar stool, as Daniel manages to putter rather gracefully around the kitchen—even on crutches—mixing up pancake batter, coaxing bacon to crisp, cracking eggs expertly into a pan—one handed, the _show off_. He’s humming the same song from their shower and it’s not until he starts singing the words under his breath that Johnny recognizes the tune as a Frank Sinatra song. 

_And I've got no defense for it_

_That heat is too intense for it_

_What good would common sense for it do?_

_'Cause it's witchcraft_

_Wicked witchcraft_

Daniel’s voice is actually pleasant and it harmonizes with the sounds of bacon sizzling away in the pan, the soft _tick tick tick_ of the whisk hitting the sides of the glass bowl. The whole scene is oddly... _domestic,_ Johnny thinks to himself, laughing when Daniel tries to flip a pancake, one handed, but instead of it landing back into the pan, it flops to floor with a rather wet sounding _thwack._

Daniel pouts, eyes drifting to the pan then back to the pancake that’s half cooked and now oozing wet batter onto the tile floor, like he doesn’t understand where he went wrong.

Something soft and warm twists in Johnny’s heart, despite his laughter. 

“Way to go, Julia Child,” Johnny teases, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

Daniel rolls his eyes, but there’s a pink flush to his cheeks. “I’ve done it before, okay? It’s just these damn crutches, they limit my range of motion or somethin’—“

Johnny chuckles, grabbing a rag from the drawer next to the sink and leans down to mop up the mess. 

“You know, it’s a poor craftsman that blames his tools,” Johnny says as he tosses the rag into the hamper, unable to resist kissing Daniel’s still pouting lips. 

“I ain’t blamin’ the tools, Johnny, I’m blamin’ these damn crutches, they get in the way of everything,” Daniel pauses, eyes gleaming with an idea that Johnny knows right away he’s not gonna like. “You know, the doctor _did_ say I should start putting some weight on it soon. Maybe I could just—“

“Nope,” Johnny says with a dismissive shake of his head. 

“Aw, c’mon Johnny, I can just hold onto the counter and—“

Johnny kisses Daniel, both in the hopes of distracting him and making him shut up. It works, momentarily. But when they pull away from each other, there’s still a determined gleam in Daniel’s eyes and Johnny rolls his eyes. 

“You’re using the crutches, Danny,” Johnny says, tone booking no argument. It’s the same tone is mother uses when she says, _don’t argue with me._

But Daniel still has the stubborn set to his chin, eyes glinting in defiance like he’s going to argue further. 

And Johnny doesn’t have to wait long 

“But—“

“No.”

“Lemme just—“

“No.”

“But I can—“

“Your bacon is burning,” Johnny interrupts, pointing behind Daniel, to the stove, where there’s an awful lot of smoke coming out of the pan that’s cooking the bacon. 

_“Shit.”_

*

Breakfast is banana chocolate chip pancakes—bananarama pancakes, Daniel had called them when he slid the plate over to Johnny with an over dramatic flourish—scrambled eggs cooked to perfection and (slightly) burnt bacon. 

Johnny can still taste the chocolate from the pancakes, sweet and sugary, on Daniel’s lips. Can still feel the stickiness from the maple syrup when he traces the plump bottom lip with his tongue, mixing with the saltiness from the bacon leftover on Daniel’s tongue. 

It pains him to have to end this, but he needs to go home and face the music. Knows his mom, as unaffected as she was last night, will be worried if he doesn’t come home soon. 

“Daniel, I’ve got to— _mmm, fuck_ —I’ve got to—“ 

Daniel sinks his teeth into Johnny’s bottom lip, soothes it with a caress of his tongue, leaving Johnny momentarily speechless, mind scrambling to remember what he was even trying to say in the first place.

It’s only when his heavy lidded eyes blink open and see the time on the alarm clock next to Daniel’s bed, that he remembers that he really needs to go.

He pulls away from Daniel’s lips, a zing of arousal traveling down his spine when Daniel whines and chases his lips and Johnny lets him have it—enjoys the smooth slide of their lips, the heat from their shared breath, the _wantwantwant_ that stirs in his belly, cock half hard and straining against his zipper. 

Johnny groans when Daniel cants his hips up, chasing the friction they both need and he hates to end this, just when it’s getting good, he’s tempted to stay, _but—_

“Danny, I’ve got to go,” Johnny murmurs against his lips, smirking when Daniel tries to give chase again but Johnny avoids it, rolling off Daniel’s body and using the springs in the mattress as leverage to hoist himself up off the bed.

Daniel glares, but the effect is ruined by the high flush on his cheeks, kiss swollen lips, blown pupils, cock a hard outline in the cut off sweats he’s wearing. He looks properly debouched and it makes Johnny’s cock ache with a want so strong, it renders him momentarily speechless. 

Johnny’s no virgin, but he’s also a teenage boy and even at his most horniest, he doesn’t think he’s ever wanted someone this badly before. And a male at that, too.

“Do you really have to?” Daniel asks, borderline whines and it only makes Johnny’s smirk grow wider. 

“Gonna miss me, LaRusso?” Johnny teases, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull his shoes on. 

“I always miss you when you’re not here,” Daniel says with such a bold honesty that Johnny fumbles, fingers catching clumsily in the laces. “Besides, it’s nice, having someone else take care of this,” he gestures to his hard on, still straining against the seam of his sweats. Johnny swallows heavily when he sees the damp spot in the front, surprised with how much he wants to taste it for himself. “I like not having to do all the work.” 

Johnny snorts. “You mean, it’s nice having something else that’s not your own hand?”

Daniel flushes. “Hey, man, I ain’t no virgin—“

“Now I know why your right hook is so strong— _ow!_ See? Who knew all that muscle was because you couldn’t get laid—“ Johnny was prepared for the next hit, blocking it easily and using the leverage to roll himself back on top of Daniel, knees pinning his hips, elbows tucked against his ribs, wrists gripped in a gentle hold above his head. 

Daniel swallows, breathing stuttering, pulse fluttering wildly where Johnny’s fingers are cradling his wrists. Johnny smirks down at him, body shivering with heat at having Daniel trapped underneath him. 

“Easy, LaRusso,” Johnny whispers, a gentle reminder that while Johnny may have him pinned, Daniel has all the power. 

Daniel licks his lips, eyes searching Johnny’s face carefully and Johnny can physically see Daniel fight against his instincts—the urge to fight back, to gain the upper hand—as his body goes lax in Johnny’s arms, limbs loosening, submitting to Johnny’s hold. Trusting him. 

And _God,_ does that do something to Johnny. 

“Tell me, Danny,” Johnny whispers, nosing at his sharp jaw, teasing his lips over the sensitive skin of Daniel’s neck, “have you ever fucked someone before?”

Johnny feels him swallow, hears his breath stutter in his throat and he’s got his answer before he hears the breathy _no_ fall past Daniel’s lips. 

Johnny hums, sucking a bruise into Daniel’s pulse point. “Has anyone ever fucked you?” 

Daniel shakes his head. “No,” he whispers. 

“Tell me, baby,” Johnny murmurs, nipping at Daniel’s earlobe. “Has anyone ever touched you before?” 

Daniel moans, squirming in Johnny’s hold and Johnny presses down a little harder, still mindful to be careful. He can feel Daniel’s erection brush against his own, feel the heat of it through the material of his jeans and Johnny bites back his own moan.

“Answer me, Danny,” Johnny breathes, letting his own hips fall into an easy grind.

“N-no— _fuck_ —no one—ah—but y-you,” Daniel groans, whimpering when their cocks tease against each other on a particularly rough thrust.

Johnny purrs in satisfaction, sucking another bruise into Daniel’s neck before he pulls away, meeting Daniel’s lips in a messy kiss that’s more panting into each other’s mouths than actually kissing. 

Heat coils low in Johnny’s belly and he sneaks a hand down between them, popping the button on his jeans, groaning in relief when his cock springs free, pushing past the zipper, that’s how hard he is. 

“What about you, baby?” Johnny whispers against his lips. “You ever touch anyone else before?” 

Daniel shakes his head, moaning when Johnny reaches into his sweats, hands meeting warm flesh and grips Daniel’s fluttering cock.

That possessive feeling—the desire to be the only one who gets to touch, taste and tease Daniel like this—returns, burning like a fire in his veins, adding fuel to the flames of his arousal. 

“Can I try something?” Johnny asks softly. “You can say no.”

“Trust you.” Daniel murmurs, capturing his lips again. 

Warmth—that has nothing to do with arousal—pools in Johnny’s chest at those words, heart threatening to burst.

Johnny loosens his grip on Daniel’s wrists, wrapping his hand around one of Daniel’s and guides it downwards, _down down down_ , until it’s brushing against both of their erections. 

“Touch me,” Johnny whispers. “I want you to.”

Daniel whimpers, wrapping his hand around Johnny’s cock, giving it an experimental stroke and Johnny’s hips twitch in response. 

“Uh huh, just like that—“ Johnny says softly, coaxing. “Just like Danny— _fuck_ —“

Daniel grows more confident, quickening his pace, thumb stroking underneath the head, wrist twisting on the upstroke.

Johnny’s head is spinning, every nerve ending feels like it’s burning white hot, like a brand pressing over and over into his skin and he revels in it, chasing after Daniel’s touch, wanting _more more more—_

“Johnny,” Daniel pleads, lashes fluttering open and Johnny’s hit with the full force of those Bambi eyes—pupils blown, black eclipsing the brown, staring up at Johnny with a mixture of desperation and pride and it’s _fuck_ , the hottest thing Johnny’s ever seen. 

Johnny grips Daniel’s cock—leaking and swollen and _so so hard_ —and strokes once, twice and then Daniel’s cumming—dick twitching, cum splattering across his chest and it sends Johnny over the edge, muffling his moan into Daniel’s pliant mouth. 

“Fuck.” Daniel says breathlessly, eloquent as ever. 

Johnny snorts in laughter, pressing a kiss to Daniel’s lips, his cheeks, the tip of his nose, his forehead, before stealing another kiss from his lips. 

“It was alright,” Johnny says, trying for nonchalant, but his lips are twitching and Daniel rolls his eyes, swatting at Johnny with his hand still covered in cum and Johnny dodges it because _ew._

“Watch it,” Johnny huffs, biting back a grin when Daniel laughs. “I don’t have time for another shower.”

Daniel hums and Johnny takes the opportunity to tuck them back into their respective pants, wiping his hands on Daniel’s once again soiled shirt, helping him out of it and cleaning up any stray drops of cum that landed on his belly. 

He tosses it in the general direction of Daniel’s hamper and judging by the annoyed look Daniel shoots him, he missed by a mile. Johnny kisses him to make up for it and when he pulls away, Daniel’s annoyance has melted into a soft smile. 

“Smooth talker,” Daniel teases, brushing Johnny’s bangs back from his face, cupping his cheek into his warm palm and Johnny leans into it, affection trickling like warm honey into his veins. 

There’s something lurking behind Daniel’s eyes that Johnny can’t place, but it makes something twist uncomfortably in his stomach. 

“Will you—“ Daniel bites his lip, watching Johnny carefully. “Will you be okay?”

Johnny wants to be annoyed, even tries to summon some anger at the assumption that he’s unable to take care of himself. But Daniel looks genuinely concerned about him and it’s… _odd_. But not unpleasant. It soothes the blow to his ego, knowing that Daniel isn’t asking to be a dick, but because he’s genuinely worried about him. 

Johnny offers him a small smile that he really hopes comes across as reassuring. 

“Gonna fight my battles for me, Danny?” Johnny murmurs, quirking a teasing eyebrow. “Be my night in shining armor?”

“Johnny,” Daniel chides gently. “I’m bein’ serious here.”

Johnny strokes a thumb over the hinge of Daniel’s jaw, _backandfortth backandforth,_ unable to meet Daniel’s eyes and he hates himself for it. 

“Sid left this morning for a business trip, he’ll be gone for a few days,” Johnny says. “I think him and my mom are going on vacation when he gets back,” he adds with a shrug. “For New Years, they usually do it every year.”

Daniel still looks unsure, so Johnny kisses him, gently, sweetly, hoping Daniel understands what he’s trying to say but can’t— _thanks for caring, for worrying, for being here, for caring about me, for taking care of me._ All of that and _more._

“I’ll be fine,” Johnny says when he pulls away. 

Daniel doesn’t look convinced. 

Johnny doesn’t really blame him. 

*

It’s another twenty minutes before Johnny’s actually leaving Daniel’s apartment—trading gentle kisses, which turned into making out, which turned into _frenzied_ making out and it took every ounce of will power Johnny had to pull away and finish getting ready to leave. 

The high he’s been riding since this morning, fades the closer he gets to home and the further he gets from Daniel. He tries to listen to a cassette tape, but not even REO Speedwagon can soothe the tight knot of anxiety that’s lodged itself in his throat. 

By the time he makes it back to Encino Hills, that knot has turned into a vice like grip, threatening to choke him. It eases when he pulls into the driveway and Sid’s car is gone from it’s usual spot, but he still has to face his mother and somehow, that’s worse than anything Sid could dish out. 

Because Sid’s words stopped hurting a long time ago—back when Johnny realized he’d never been the father figure he’d always dreamed of having, when he was little and begged his mom to tell him stories about the father he never knew. The one who never stuck around long enough for them to even meet. 

It was his mother’s compliance to Sid’s anger—the way she turned a blind eye to it the longer they lived in a cushy mansion with access to more money that some people could live a thousand lifetimes and still never see—that hurt worse than any blow Johnny could ever receive at Sid’s hand. 

That his mother cared more about money and status than the wellbeing of her own son. 

_Being comfortable comes with sacrifices, Johnny,_ she’d murmur in his ear while he cried into her shoulder, back in the early days, when he couldn’t understand why Sid hated him. Why nothing he did was ever enough. Why _he_ wasn’t enough. _Just don’t make him angry, baby and he’ll take care of us._

Eyeing the bruises on his face, Johnny snorts in disgust. 

_Is this enough of a sacrifice for you, mom?_ He thinks to himself bitterly. 

The pain pill Daniel had given him before breakfast is wearing off. His ribs ache with every breath, the cut on his lip throbs in time with his heartbeat and his eye hurts like a bitch. But Johnny ignores it—making his way into the house, where is mother is waiting for him in the kitchen, a cup of coffee in her hands. 

She looks up when he enters, but he ignores her, bypassing the bar stool already pulled out and waiting for his arrival and opens the fridge, pretending to pursue it’s contents just so he can avoid looking at her just a little longer. 

His stomach twists at the thought of food—the breakfast he ate back at Daniel’s is currently sitting like a rock in his stomach. His fingers twitch longingly towards the beer—alcohol is about the only way this conversation will be even slightly bearable—but he was planning on going back over to Daniel’s later, so getting sloshed this early in the day is out. He grabs a carton of juice instead, even though he’s really not even that thirsty and he closes the door, leaning wearily against it and finally faces his mother, who’s been watching him since the moment he walked through the door.

Her blue eyes flit over his face, taking stock of his injuries, assessing the damage, the evidence of her husband’s violent temper that’s always been Johnny’s cross to bear—his sacrifice to the better life his mother always wanted for him. 

A part of Johnny wants an excuse to take his shirt off, to show his mom the imprint of Sid’s shoes that make his ribs resemble the priceless Jackson Pollock painting hanging in their foyer. 

_I call this one: Angry Asshole by Armani for Men. The medium used in this particular piece was unconventional but ingenious: the sole of an Armani loafer. When used with excessive force, it causes the blood capillaries to explode, leaving behind beautiful shades of violet and indigo that will eventually fade into a color I like to call shockingly chartreuse. How to get one of these one of a kind pieces, you ask? Just piss off Sid Weigner! The cost? Oh, only your dignity and self respect!_

Johnny shakes his head and takes a sip of his juice, wincing at the taste of overly sweet grapes and sugar.

Johnny _hates_ grape juice. And his mother can’t ever seem to remember that when she goes grocery shopping. 

It’s so stupid and insignificant, in the grand scheme of things, but it just adds fuel to already raging the fire that, up until now, has been on a low simmer ever since he woke up this morning—lying in wait for a lit match to set it up in smoke. 

“So where’s step-daddy dearest? He didn’t feel like finishing what he started last night?” Johnny asks, chucking the still full carton of juice in the trash. Some of it lands on the bleach white tiling and Johnny hopes it leaves a stain. 

His mother sighs and the flash of guilt at how _tired_ she sounds only makes him angrier. He shouldn’t feel guilty.

“Johnny, don’t start,” Laura says tiredly, taking a delicate sip of her coffee. Her lipstick is red today and it leaves a smudge behind on the bright white mug. 

_What is it with rich people and the color white?_ Johnny thinks to himself absently. 

“Let me guess: he’s out buying my Christmas present, right?” Johnny continues, ignoring her. “What’d you tell him to buy me this time, mom? Is it a new car? Maybe a new dirt bike?”

“Johnny,” Laura warns, lips thinning. 

“Or is it just a check with my name on it?” Johnny goads, smirking when his mom purses her lips. _Bingo._ “How much money do I get for being his punching bag? Five hundred? Six, maybe? C’mon, mom, don’t tell me you lowballed me. A fight like that? I’d at least need a grand to make sure I keep quiet—“

_“Enough,_ ” Laura snaps, rising from her delicate perch on the modern barstools she picked out earlier in the year. It was the fourth time she’s redone the kitchen since they moved in six years ago. Before Sid, their old furniture never even matched. They were lucky to be able to afford to keep the lights on, let alone worry about being able to buy new furniture. 

Now his mother changes furniture like someone changes their underwear. Just simply because she _can._ Because now they have the _money_ to redecorate a room whenever she gets bored with the interior design. Because that’s another thing rich people do—buy overpriced furniture that no one’s allowed to sit on for fear of damaging it. 

Johnny clenches his jaw so hard his teeth grind together, the desire to hit something making his fists tingle. But he _won’t_ , because this is his _mother_ and he can’t— _won’t_ unleash that kind of anger, not around his mother. Not when she could get caught in the crossfire. 

His mom must see just how hard he’s struggling to keep himself in check, because some of her anger softens, gentling into a look of concern as her eyes trace over the bruises once again, lingering on the worst ones—his eye and the bruise on his jaw. 

Shame wells in his gut, hot and fierce and Johnny looks away, but her gentle hands catch his chin, forcing him to look at her. 

There’s a steely glint in her eyes, a tightness to her mouth that gives her usually beautiful face a pinched look that makes Johnny’s stomach a twist. 

“This won’t happen again,” She whispers fiercely. 

Johnny scoffs. “Yeah, okay. You say that now—“

_“Johnny,”_ She says, louder, more insistent. “This will _not_ happen again,” she repeats slowly, determinedly. “Words are one thing but _this_ —“ She brushes a warm thumb over his lip, his eye, “—will never happen again. I’ll make sure Sid knows that.”

Johnny can remember the look on his mother’s face when Sid landed the first blow, the way she screamed at them to stop once Sid got him on the floor, the tears in her eyes when Johnny stormed out of the house, _Johnny wait don’t go—_

Johnny wonders if this means his mom’s finally found something that money can’t buy—the ability to forget her husband smacking her kid around. Or the absolution of guilt for letting him get away with it in the first place. 

“Now _mom_ ,” Johnny intones condescendingly. “You know if you do that, Sid may not write a check the next time you want to redo the kitchen. Or the living room. He might even take away your membership to the country club and then who will you get to show off to?” 

Hurt flashes in his mother’s eyes and Johnny zeroes in on it like a shark smelling blood in the water

_No mercy. Hit her where it hurts._

“Who knows, mom, maybe if you let him cause permanent damage next time, you’ll finally get to take that trip to Paris you’ve been hinting at. Maybe he’ll even spring for a shopping spree. You’ve always wanted to do that, haven’t you?” Johnny sneers, yanking himself out of her grip. 

Tears glitter like the diamond ring on her finger, blinding in the florescent lighting of the state of the art kitchen. A part of Johnny hates himself for it, but the bigger part, the part that’s still aching and hurt at the memory of his own mother, standing idly by and let her husband beat the shit out of him, revels in it. 

_No mercy_

“Johnny, that’s not fair—“ She tries, voice whisper soft, but Johnny’s heard this before. Has it branded into his brain like Sid’s sole marks on his rib cage. 

“No, mom, what’s not fair is you continuing to making excuses for that asshole just so you can pretend you did the right thing by marrying him in the first place,” Johnny snaps. 

“I just wanted us to—“

“—have a better life,” Johnny says, cutting her off with a roll of his eyes as he turns on his heel to leave. “Well, I’m glad it worked out for one of us.”

“Johnny, baby, c’mon—“ She tries, but Johnny ignores her. 

Blood is rushing through his ears, heart beating wildly in his chest, his muscles ache with the overwhelming urge to strike out at the first thing that crosses his path and he just needs to _get away get away get away runrunrunrun—_

He slams the door to his room behind him, collapsing against it and tries to breathe past the weight pressing into his chest. He can feel a sting, the foreign pressure forming behind his eye sockets and it heightens his panic because Cobra’s don’t cry, they don’t—

_The minute you shed those tears, you’ve already lost,_ Kreese murmurs in his ear. _Are you a loser, Mr. Lawrence? Because I don’t train losers, do you hear me? Cobra’s don’t cry, cobra’s aren’t_ ** _weak_** _—_

_You’re nothing, you’re a loser. You hear me, Johnny? A LOSER—_

_Arms, wrapped around his throat, corded muscles flexing and pressing downdowndown—_

_“Let him go, Sensei! You’re hurting him—“_

_Chest burns with the need to_ **_breathe, can’t breathe, need air cantbreathecantbreathe—_ **

_You’re nothing, you're nothing, loserloserloserloser—_

_“That’s enough, Sid, you’re hurting him—“_

_“No good, good for nothing street punk—“_

_Got to get out got to get out outoutoutout awayawayaway—_

_Can’t breathe can’t breathe, need air, need air—_

_—you’re nothing, you’re a loser, A LOSER, JOHNNY, A LOSER—_

A shrilling ringing startles Johnny so badly, he throws a fist out and connects with something that shatters across his knuckle, barely registers the tiny pinpricks of pain that dance across his skin, eyes snapping open to find himself alone, in his room, back pressed to the solid wood of the door. 

It takes him a minute to realize the shrill ringing is the phone next to his bed—his own private landline, another one of Sid’s _gifts_ he so graciously presented to Johnny when he moved in. 

_So you can call all your little friends,_ he’d said to Johnny, face twisted into a nasty smirk.

They both knew it was a waste of money considering, at the time, Johnny had a grand total of _zero_ friends to call and talk to. But again, Sid had known that, and he _still_ spent the money to have a phone guy come out and install it, even going to the trouble of getting Johnny his own line. All of that money and time, just for a sick taunt. 

And it worked. 

Johnny remembers staring at that phone, willing it to ring, to answer it and have someone his age on the line, calling to ask him to come and play. How lonely it was, to be the only kid in a house this big, with no one around to talk to. How he’d been afraid to even leave his room, to touch anything, to even _breathe,_ lest he break or damage something. 

The phone is still ringing. 

Johnny’s temped to ignore it, he’s not in the mood to talk to anyone, but then he remembers that of the few people that have his number, Daniel is one of them and it could be him calling. 

Johnny tries not to think about how it’s that possibility that gives him the strength to get himself off the floor—when he ended up there, he’s not sure—and propels him towards the phone, catching it on the last ring. 

It’s not until he glances at the clock that’s next to phone that he realizes, with a sinking heart, that it wouldn't be Daniel calling him, because he’d be on his way across town, to his doctor’s appointment. 

The disappointment that comes with this particular realization makes him snap an impatient, _“What?”_ into the receiver, which makes the person on the other end laugh. 

“Well, hello to you, too, Johnny,” Bobby says cheerfully and while it’s not Daniel, something about the familiar cadence of Bobby Brown’s voice soothes some of the irritation bouncing around in Johnny’s chest. 

“Sorry, man I—“ Johnny sighs, collapsing onto his unmade bed. “It’s been a long day.”

The _11:30_ flashing across the alarm clock begs to differ, but it certainly _feels_ like it’s been a long day.

“Hey, is everything okay?” Bobby asks, tone switching from teasing to serious and Johnny can’t help but smile. Out of all of his friends—Dutch, the bad influence with a quick temper, Tommy, the instigator, Jimmy, the follower—Bobby is the peace maker. The one constantly trying to steer them _away_ from trouble, not towards it. 

Bobby is also a great listener and he’s the only one who really knows what goes on behind the doors of this big empty house. Up until Daniel, Bobby was the one Johnny went to when things got bad at home. When Sid’s anger was too much for Johnny to handle, when the panic sent him running, it was always Bobby’s house he ran to. Bobby would let him in, no questions asked, letting Johnny into his house, his space, with his family, who treated Johnny like he was one of their own.

In a lot of ways, Daniel was a lot like Bobby. 

(Except, Johnny is pretty sure he isn’t like, half in love with Bobby Brown. He might of had like, a tiny crush on Bobby at one point in his life, but finding someone, male or female, who _didn’t_ have a crush on Bobby Brown—with his floppy sandy brown hair and kind eyes—well, finding a needle in a haystack would be easier, Johnny was sure).

(He’s also going to add being half in love with Daniel LaRusso to the list of things he’ll think about at a later date. Maybe. Possibly. Slim chance.)

“Yeah, just you know, shit with Sid and my mom,” Johnny answers, purposely vague. “Anyway, what’s up, man?”

Bobby hesitates, like he wants to push, but he must hear Johnny’s silent _I don’t want to talk about it_ and trudges on with only a small, exasperated sigh that Johnny’s beyond used to by now. 

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” Bobby says and Johnny can hear the underlying question, but he ignores it. “Not since the whole—“

_You know, when you and I ganged up on Daniel LaRusso on the instruction of our Sensei, who later tried to choke you to death in a parking lot full of witnesses as punishment for losing the tournament to an illegal crane kick to the face._

Yeah, doesn't exactly roll right off the tongue. 

“— _anyway_ ,” Bobby continues, after an awkward pause. “I was wondering if you want to meet up at the diner? Jimmy’s still upstate with his parents, but the rest of the guys are free, if you’re in.”

Johnny hesitates, biting his lip, forgets he can’t do that, hissing when it tugs uncomfortably at the freshly scabbed over cut. 

“Hey, man, are you sure you’re alright?” Bobby asks and Johnny can just picture his face, scrunched in concern and it makes something twist in Johnny’s stomach. Because the guys will see the bruises on his face and want to know what happened, who caused it and it’ll be a whole thing when it doesn't need to be one and—

Johnny hears footsteps by his door before a soft, hesitant knock raps against the wood. 

“Johnny? Can we talk?” His mom asks hesitantly through the door. 

—but if he has to pick between staying here and getting into it again with his mother, which will no doubt turn into Sid getting involved if he comes home and finds Johnny’s mom crying or explaining a couple of bruises and a split lip to his friends, well. It’s really a no brainer, isn’t it?

“Yeah, man, I’m fine,” Johnny finds himself saying, just as his mom knocks again, this time, more insistent. 

“Johnny, c’mon, we need to talk about this, baby—“

“—are you sure? You sound kind of distracted—“ Bobby’s says and Johnny can hear the frown in his voice. 

“Yeah—yeah, I’m good, man, just—“

“Johnny? Open up—“

“I’ll see you at the diner, okay? I’ll be there in twenty.” Johnny says before hangs up. 

His mom’s still knocking but Johnny ignores it—her, the pleading in her voice, the ache in his chest—and heads into the bathroom to shower and change so he can get the hell out of this goddamn house. 

*

Sal’s diner is a popular spot for kid’s to go after school to get a milkshake and a plate of fries while they sit in the retro booths to do their homework. It’s where everyone goes on Friday night after the football games to celebrate a victory with root beer floats and cheese burgers with just the right amount of grease to line your stomach to avoid a hangover after a night of drinking cheap beer and boxed wine at one of the parties on the Hill. 

It was where Johnny and the guys would go after a hard practice, bitching about their aches and pains over chili cheese fries and sodas. It was where Johnny had taken Ali on their first date, after spending hours at Golf N Stuff, playing arcade games and putt putt. Johnny remembers sitting next to her in the booth, the leather warm from their shared body heat, as they talked and flirted over a plate of fries. It’s where they shared their first kiss—Ali’s lips had tasted like cherry lip gloss she’d worn all night and the vanilla milkshake she’d been drinking. That’s all Johnny could taste the rest of the night, long after he’d dropped her off at home and spent the night, grinning up at his ceiling like an idiot. 

It sits in the middle of town, right in the middle of the coming and goings of rich house wives from Encino Hills and the working class people who came over from Reseda and the rest of the Valley. 

It’s also right across the street from the Cobra Kai dojo. 

A fact that had slipped Johnny’s mind until he’s sitting in the parking lot, waiting for Bobby, Tommy and Dutch to get there. 

Johnny hasn't been back since the tournament and there’s a part of him that aches to enter those doors, to enfold himself back into the place that had given him friends, a place to belong, to grow strong—mentally and physically. Cobra Kai had given him a sense of family and _home,_ no matter how cruel and grueling training could be with Kreese’s harsh words and taunting as a backing track. Johnny always knew where his place was in the world of Cobra Kai. At Kreese’s side, pushing his body to it’s ultimate limits in order to be quicker and stronger than his enemy. _Better. Meaner. Crueler._

_No mercy._

That ever present itch is back—crawling underneath his skin, lurking and lying in wait for a fight he’s just itching to start, just to subdue the anger that’s been coiling like a snake ready to strike ever since the tournament. 

He feels like a junkie, waiting for his next high. Kreese had never taught him how to suppress the anger, he only taught Johnny how to harness it—to use it like weapon in a fight. To fight with it, not against it. 

_They always say never to fight angry,_ Kreese had said with a glint in his eyes that Johnny had always secretly feared, _but that’s because they don’t know the secret. You can fight angry, kid, you just have learn how to use it to your advantage._

Johnny has always had a hot temper, Kreese just taught him how to use it. How to focus the anger into his fists, into his kicks, rather than keep it at the forefront of his mind so it clouded his vision and he couldn't think straight. It was a fine line that Kreese was only too happy to teach Johnny how to walk. 

Without Kreese at his back to fan the flames, Johnny had thought some of that anger would fade. But the truth was, Johnny is more angry now that he ever remembers being in his life. And without Cobra Kai, he’s got no outlet for it anymore. And that terrifies him more than he wants to admit. 

A knock on his window makes him jump, but it’s just Bobby and Tommy, both with stupid grins on their faces and it’s such a welcome sight, that Johnny momentarily forgets all thoughts of Sid and Kreese. 

As soon as he’s out of his car, Bobby and Tommy tackle Johnny into a hug, that Johnny accepts with an eye roll, but he’s secretly pleased because he didn’t realize how much he’s missed these idiots over the last few weeks. 

Tommy whistles when they pull away, catching sight of the bruises on Johnny’s face at the same time Bobby does. 

“Damn, that’s one hell of a shiner, Johnny,” Tommy says, stepping closer to inspect it. “Did you get into it again with LaRusso’s Sensei?”

Johnny rolls his eyes, swiping half heartedly at Tommy’s head, but he dodges it, laughing. 

“No, asshole,” Johnny says, mentally wincing at the reminder. For an old man, Mr. Miyagi could pack one hell of a punch. “Some dickwad was giving me shit about the tournament, had to set him straight.”

Bobby’s eyes narrow, lips pulled into a frown at Tommy’s side and Johnny refuses to make eye contact with him. 

“Well, if you look like that, I’d hate to see what you did to him,” Tommy says, shrugging. 

Johnny doesn't know what’s worse: Bobby’s worry or Tommy’s nonchalance about Johnny potentially beating the shit out of someone. 

_Give him a body bag, Johnny!_

Tommy wanders off when he sees Dutch whip into the parking lot a few spaces down and Johnny knows they’ll go around back to smoke whatever Dutch has brought with him and for once, Johnny doesn't feel the need to join them, even if his ribs ache from all the bro-hugs and back slapping. 

When Johnny turns back, Bobby still watching him, this time with a calculating look on his face that Johnny decides he doesn't like in the slightest. 

“Sid did that to you, didn’t he?” Bobby asks, keeping his voice quiet, even though Tommy and Dutch have already disappeared into the alleyway behind Sal’s. 

Johnny looks away, down at the scuffed tops of his Converse and after a moment of hesitation, he nods once, sharply and shakily. 

“Jesus Christ, Johnny,” Bobby breathes. “When did this happen?”

Johnny wishes he would’ve worn his sunglasses today because it’s bright as fuck outside and also, he’s pretty sure if he sees the concerned look on Bobby’s face, he’ll start crying and that’s just. _No._

“Last night,” Johnny says. Clearing his throat, he adds, “He was drunk and running his mouth and I—I got mad. Threw the first punch and well,” Johnny shrugs. “You can imagine the rest.”

Bobby sighs and it sounds sad and exasperated and Johnny shifts, uncomfortable. 

“Look, it’s not that bad. I’ve had worse after training with Kreese.”

Bobby sighs again and this time, when Johnny looks up, he’s met with that same look that Ali used to give him when he was being unreasonably obtuse. Like Johnny and the point were never going to formally meet. 

“Johnny, this is bad. If Sid’s hitting you—“ Bobby starts and Johnny cuts him off with sneer. 

“What, Bobby? We’ll go to the police and report it?” Johnny demands mockingly. 

Bobby swallows, but there’s a steely glint in his eyes that means he’s not going to go down without a fight. 

“Maybe we should,” Bobby says ignoring Johnny’s scoff. “We’ve got proof, Johnny. Those bruises—Sid’s gonna have a hard time explaining that away—“

“And what happens when he tells them I threw the first punch?” Johnny asks. “Huh? What then, Bobby? Because that’s what happened. He was drunk and running his mouth and I got pissed so I hit him. I’m eighteen, I could go to jail and you know I will,” Johnny says, when Bobby opens his mouth to protest. “You think Sid will pay for my lawyer when I’m trying to hit him with assault charges?”

Bobby closes his mouth, but there’s still a frustrated scowl marring his usually sweet baby face and it doesn't make Johnny feel any sort of victory. 

“Well,” Bobby says after a beat of silence, when they’ve both cooled down a little bit. “I could talk to my parents, maybe you could move in with me—“

“I’m not leaving my mom alone to deal with that asshole,” Johnny says with a dismissive shake of his head. 

The thought has crossed his mind serval times, late at night, whenever he went ten rounds with Sid. He’d dream of running away or asking Bobby’s parents if he could move in with them, just until graduation. But one thought always stopped him from ever attempting it: what would happen to his mother if Johnny was no longer there for Sid to target? His mom may not get the full force of it like Johnny does, but even she’s not completely immune to Sid’s anger. And as much as Johnny’s pissed at her, he won’t leave her alone in that house, not if being there keeps her safe from Sid turning his rage on to her. 

Bobby bites his lip, something he does when he’s got something to say, but he’s knows he needs to tread with caution. Johnny’s already dreading whatever it is that’s going to come out of his mouth, he can already feel it. 

“Maybe it’s time you start worrying about yourself, Johnny,” Bobby says quietly. “After all, you didn’t ask for this. Your mom made her choice by marrying the guy,” Bobby hesitates, adding, voice whisper soft, like he already knows the answer. “Did she even try to stop him?”

Johnny swallows, looking away, doesn’t want to see the sadness or the pity in Bobby’s eyes at his non-answer. 

“Johnny, you know you could’ve come over,” Bobby says, resting a hesitant hand on Johnny’s shoulder. “You didn’t have to stay there, not after—“

“I didn’t stay there,” Johnny assures him quickly. “I stayed at a—uh, a friend’s house.”

Johnny chances a glance out of the corner of his eye just in time to see Bobby’s eyebrows shoot up into his hair line. 

“You uh, don’t know him,” Johnny continues, mentally wincing at the lie, on both Daniel and Bobby’s behalf. “He’s um, a friend from—before, you know, uh, my mom and I moved here.”

_Stupid, Bobby knows you were a friendless loser before you moved here._

And judging by the look on Bobby’s face, he knows it, too. But Bobby, thankfully, doesn’t call him on it. 

“Well,” Bobby says carefully, eyes roaming over Johnny in a way that makes Johnny feel like he’s under a microscope. “I guess that explains that bruise on your neck.”

Bobby nods to the hickey Daniel sucked into Johnny’s skin, as he fumbled his way out of the door between kisses and laughter and promises of coming back later. It was tucked right behind his ear, a spot that made him moan like a two dollar whore when Daniel found it by chance. It was out of the way enough that his mom would either miss it or write it off as a bruise from Sid, but Bobby, the observant fucker that he is, zeroed in on it the moment Johnny stepped out of the car. Johnny knew it, too. It was like the hickey burned underneath his puzzled gaze, like Bobby couldn’t figure out how a bruise could land there when most of them were on Johnny’s face. 

Bobby looks like he wants to press for more, but Johnny’s saved from further interrogation by Dutch and Tommy stumbling up to them, eyes glassy and smelling like they just got out of a hot box with Cheech and Chong. 

“And just _what_ are you two ladies gossiping about over here?” Dutch demands teasingly, throwing an arm over Johnny’s shoulders. 

Johnny’s stomach twists at the sickly sweet smell and knows he’s gonna have to take another shower before he goes back to Daniel’s, just incase Mrs. LaRusso ends up taking a half day from work after Daniel’s appointment and is there when he comes over. 

She’s been gracious enough to forgive Johnny for all the shit he’s given Daniel and Johnny would even wager that she actually likes him, if he were a betting man. He doesn’t want to fuck that up by coming over to the house, smelling like he just came from a Grateful Dead concert. 

Bobby opens his mouth to answer, but he’s cut off by Dutch, who finally takes a good look at Johnny with eyes that are all pupils and redder than Johnny’s Firebird. 

“Whoa, dude, what the _fuck_ happened to your face?”

Johnny sighs, Tommy giggles and Bobby looks like he really wishes he would’ve stayed home. 

Johnny commiserates with him in the feeling. 

*

The feeling of regret fades when they fall into their regular booth, laughing and joking around over plates piled high with food they probably won’t finish and milkshakes so thick, Johnny needs a spoon to eat it. 

They talk about everything Johnny’s missed over the last few weeks—parties, bonfires—but not once does Cobra Kai get brought up. If anything, it seems like they’re purposefully avoiding talking about it and Johnny finds himself relieved for it. It’s just the four of them, hanging out and goofing off and while Johnny wishes Jimmy were here, too, it feels good to be hanging out with them again like this. A part of him feels bad for avoiding them for so long, but that doesn't mean he regrets it, either. 

Because if he did, that would mean regretting Daniel and Johnny’s time with Daniel over the last few weeks is what’s kept his head on straight for so long. Don’t get him wrong, Daniel can piss him off and rile him up in ways that no other person has before, but he’s also exudes a calm, an assuredness that soothes Johnny’s frayed edges, keeping the anger he’s been carrying around at a tolerable level.

It helps, too, that verbally sparring with Daniel is almost as good as physically fighting with him. Daniel is a grade A smart-ass and he can keep up with Johnny’s quips and verbal barbs with a sarcastic wit all his own. He’s quick as a whip and smart and he keeps Johnny on his toes in a way that no one—other than Ali—has before. 

He’s a firecracker, unpredictable and loud, quick to temper and passionate—about anything he focuses his attention on. 

Johnny’s belly _swoops_ when he remembers just _how_ it feels to be on the receiving end of that passion. Having those big, Bambi eyes focused solely on Johnny and Johnny alone. The way they darken with heat and want when Johnny lays a particularly rough and dirty kiss on those swollen lips, hearing _his_ name whispered like a prayer, over and over—

“Hey, so has anyone heard about LaRusso?” 

Johnny damn near chokes on his milkshake at the question, his eyes snapping to Tommy, who’s dipping a fist full of fries into his strawberry milkshake. 

Dutch snorts, not bothering to look up from the sugar mountain he’s made from dumping out all the sugar packets at their table. _Dick._ “Who the hell cares?”

Tommy shrugs. “I don’t know man, his knee looked pretty bad.”

Bobby set the last bite of his burger down, looking a little green around the gills. 

“I still feel really bad about that,” Bobby says, shooting Johnny a guilty look. “I hope he’s not hurt too badly.”

“You’ve got nothing to feel bad about, Bobby,” Dutch says. “That annoying little fuck deserved it, especially after what he did our little Johnny, here.”

“I don’t know, that kick was pretty bad ass,” Tommy says, contemplative, dipping another fry into his milkshake. “No offense, Johnny.”

Johnny shrugs. “None taken. Kid put up a good fight, he deserved to win.”

Dutch scoffs. “So that’s it? The kid comes into town, steals your girl, takes away your title and you’re gonna _defend_ him?”

Johnny can feel Bobby’s eyes practically burning a hole into the side of his face, but he decidedly doesn't look at him. He swallows, trying to stay calm, but the anger from earlier is rising to a steady level, like a swell at high tide. 

“First of all, Ali wasn’t my girl. She broke up with me weeks before LaRusso moved here,” Johnny shrugs again. “Besides, I hear her and LaRusso aren’t even a thing anymore. She’s dating some jock-strap from UCLA. And second of all, he won that title fair and square. We’re the ones the tried to fight dirty.”

“Kid’s got balls,” Tommy agrees with a nod. “I’ve been on the other side of Bobby’s kicks, I don’t know if I would’ve gotten up after that. That was a dirty shot, by the way, dude. Nice kick, but dirty.”

Bobby looks torn between guilt and pride. “Thanks?” he asks, more than says. Clearing his throat, he adds, “Anyways, Johnny’s right. Daniel took three shots to that knee and he still managed to fight and beat Johnny. That’s pretty impressive.”

Hope blooms in Johnny’s chest. These guys are his friends, after all and Johnny had been nervous over the last few weeks, wondering how he was going to explain his new found friendship with Daniel LaRusso. It’s not that he cared much about what they thought, but he also didn’t want to have to be forced to choose—especially not _now,_ not after last night and this morning and whatever this new thing is between him and Daniel. 

Dutch looks between the three of them in disgust. 

“You three are a bunch of pussies, man,” He says with a shake of his head. “But whatever. If you want to stand up for the little faggot be my guest—“

Johnny’s up and out of the booth so fast, he almost knocks the table over. Bobby manages to snag it, but not before a few glasses spill over, sending melted ice cream and fries everywhere. 

Johnny ignores it in favor of snatching Dutch up by the collar of his shirt, fist flying before he really registers making one in the first place. It catches on Dutch’s nose with a satisfying crunch, sending him flying backwards into booth, right into Tommy, who shouts, “ _Johnny what the fuck!”_ loud enough to attract the attention of the whole diner. 

Johnny stands there, frozen, heart racing, as he watches Dutch groan in pain, blood gushing like the Red Sea out of his nose. 

Bobby shoots everyone an apologetic smile, reaching into his wallet and throwing enough cash on the table to more than cover their tab before he grabs Johnny by the arm and drags him out of the diner. 

Johnny shakes himself out of the hold. He feels spun out and out of control and he needs space to think, to _breathe._

He just punched one of his best friends in the face, over a comment that Johnny himself has probably made more times than he can count over the years and probably the same comment he’s made about Daniel before, if he really searches through his memories hard enough. 

(He doesn’t, because he knows he’ll only prove himself right and he’s got enough guilt to pass around to the whole town and still have plenty left over for himself). 

His hand aches and he’s sure he can add bruised knuckles to his list of growing injuries, but he can’t really find it in himself to care. Dutch was being a dick and he deserved to get hit. 

(Johnny refuses to examine it any closer than that. Doesn’t want to think about why, hearing that word, used in reference to Daniel, had heated his blood quicker than taking a match to gasoline). 

The door to the diner opens and Tommy comes out with Dutch, who looks down right _murderous_ as he holds a blood stained rag to his still gushing nose _,_ in his grasp. Dutch lunges for Johnny, but Tommy was already anticipating it and tightens his grip on Dutch’s arm and drags him back into the alley, probably to smoke up some more in order to get Dutch to calm down. 

Bobby watches the exchange with an odd look on his face—the same look he was watching Johnny with when Daniel got brought up in the first place. There’s a smile dancing on his lips, an amused little quirk of his lips as he seems to appraise Johnny in a whole new light. 

“So,” Bobby says, biting back a smile. “LaRusso, huh?”

Johnny can feel his cheeks flush and it only makes Bobby’s knowing grin widen. 

“That’s where you’ve been spending all your time lately, hasn’t it?” Bobby asks.

And even though Johnny knows it’s a rhetorical question, he nods. “Yeah,” he says in a way that comes out as _and what do you have to say about that?_

Bobby holds up his hands in a placating way. “Hey, man, I come in peace.”

“You don’t sound surprised.” Johnny says accusingly. 

This time, Bobby’s smile is exasperated and fond—his _you’re missing the point again, Johnny_ smile that gets on Johnny nerves. 

“I am, a little,” Bobby admits with a shrug. “But I also knew there was more to your little tiff with LaRusso than the whole ‘he’s dating Ali’ thing.”

Johnny frowns. “What do you mean?”

“It’s called sexual tension, my friend,” Bobby says with an annoying wiggle of his eyebrows and a salacious smirk. “And you and LaRusso have it in spades.”

Johnny considers this, fiddling with his keys just to keep his hands busy. Bobby’s little knowing look is making his hands twitch again. 

“Did you—“ Johnny pauses, licking his lip, wincing when it makes the cut burn. “—did you know?” Johnny asks softly, can’t seem to make make direct eye contact with Bobby, so he looks somewhere over his shoulder while he waits for him to answer. 

It takes him a while and when Johnny chances a glance at his face, he’s relieved to see that Bobby seems to be taking the question seriously. It reminds him so much of Daniel this morning, in the shower, when Johnny had asked him about his religious beliefs and rather than laughing at Johnny or dismissing the question with a half assed answer, Daniel had given it genuine thought. 

It sends a pang of longing through Johnny so strong, he has to fight to keep himself here, in the parking lot, rather than hop in his car and drive across town to see Daniel for himself. 

“I think,” Bobby says slowly, quietly. “I think I always knew that there was more to the situation. I mean, Johnny, you _hated_ the kid, like, really hated the kid and I’ve known you for a long time and I’ve never seen someone bother you the way LaRusso does,” Bobby shrugs, biting his lip. “It just didn’t make sense, to hate someone that much, over a girl no less. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Ali’s a great girl, but she didn’t seem worth all the trouble you were putting yourself through. And then earlier, you said something about a friend and then there’s the hickey and then what just happened—“ Bobby nods to the diner, eyeing the alley Dutch and Tommy had disappeared into. “—I kind of just…put it all together, I guess.”

Johnny bites his lip, worrying the cut and focuses on the sting, the burn, of the wounded flesh reopening rather than the panic he can feel fluttering around like angry wasps in his stomach. 

“Do you—“ Johnny pauses, swallowing around the lump in throat. “Does it, you know—“

“—bother me?” Bobby asks softly. 

Johnny nods curtly, jutting his chin out in a way that he hopes looks like he’s prepared for any blow Bobby could dish out. Johnny just hopes Bobby misses the way it trembles. 

“No, Johnny,” Bobby whispers, blue eyes honest. “It doesn’t bother me.”

The relief Johnny feels at his answer is enough to make his knees buckle and he has to lean up against the side of his car for support. 

“I do think you need to be careful,” Bobby warns, tone serious. “Just because it doesn’t bother me, doesn’t mean it won’t bother other people.”

Johnny nods. “I know,” thinking of Dutch’s words, he grimaces. “I know.”

Bobby gives him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry man. I’m sure LaRusso will give anyone who gives you shit a nice crane kick to the face.”

Johnny rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “Asshole,” Johnny mutters

Bobby laughs, but his face turns serious. “How is he, by the way?”

Johnny grimaces and Bobby’s big blue eyes turn sad. “That bad, huh?”

“His knee is in rough shape, man,” Johnny admits, rubbing his thumb over his car key. “He tries to hide it, but I know he’s in a lot of pain. We really did a number on him.”

Bobby bites his lip. “Do you think—“ he hesitates, shoving his hands into his pockets nervously. “Do you think maybe I could like, come by some time? I meant it earlier, I still feel really bad about what happened and I’d like to apologize in person. Again.”

Johnny smiles. “I think he’d appreciate it, but Bobby,” Johnny adds, resting a reassuring hand on his shoulder, “he doesn't blame you. He may rib you about it, but he’s—“ _amazing, wonderful, sweet, kind, caring, forgiving_ , “—been really gracious about the whole thing.”

“Well of course he is,” Bobby teases with a smirk. “He’s got Johnny Lawrence coming over and givin’ him goo goo eyes all the time.”

Johnny flushes, shoving Bobby away. “Shut up, asshole.”

“Aw, c’mon now Johnny, don’t pretend like you know you’re not a total babe—“

“Excuse me?” 

Bobby eyes snap worriedly to a mousy looking girl who Johnny recognizes as their waitress. She’s biting her lip nervously and there’s a flush to her cheeks, like she heard too much of their conversation. 

Johnny feels his hackles rise as panic overtakes him—they were in a crowded parking lot, in the middle of the day, talking about Johnny having the hots for another boy, anyone could’ve over heard them—

Bobby, ever the proper gentleman and can recognize a Johnny Lawrence meltdown from a mile away, cuts smoothly in front of Johnny and intercepts the waitress. 

“Can we help you with something, ma’am?” Bobby asks politely, giving her a charming smile. 

It only serves to make the poor girl even more flustered. 

“Sorry, I didn’t—um, I didn’t mean to interrupt your uh, conversation,” She casts her gaze nervously over Bobby’s shoulder, where Johnny’s standing, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. 

“Oh, no worries, I was giving my friend here a hard time, that’s all,” Bobby assure her, waving off her concerns. “Did you need something? I thought I put enough money down on the table to cover everything. I’m awfully sorry for the mess, by the way, we can help you come clean it up—“

“Oh no,” The girl— _Rhonda,_ her name tag reads—rushes to say. “That’s kind of you, but that won’t be necessary. It’s just um—“ her eyes flit back over to Johnny and while she still seems nervous, there’s a determined look in her eyes that Johnny decides he doesn’t like. “I wanted to say thank you for what you did back there.”

Johnny can’t see it, but he’s pretty sure his and Bobby’s eyebrows go up at the same time. 

“I’m sorry,” Johnny says, confusedly. “You’re _thanking_ me? For what?”

Rhoda smiles, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her pierced ear. “It sounds silly, I know, but well,” She clears her throat, lowering her voice as her eyes scan the parking lot nervously. “My brother—he’s um, you know, gay,” she bites her lip and waits, like a bible thumper is gonna pop out of thin air and berate her for using such language. “And I heard what the other guy said—the word he used and well, thank you, for not letting him get away with it.”

Well. _That_ was unexpected. 

The back of Bobby’s neck is red and Johnny just knows the asshole is trying not to laugh in this poor girl’s face. 

“You’re welcome?” Johnny offers hesitantly. 

It must be the right thing to say, because Rhonda beams and holds out a large styrofoam cup that Johnny’s just now noticed. 

Johnny takes it, giving it a weary look and Rhonda laughs. “It’s a milkshake, on the house,” She explains, looking suddenly shy. “It’s not much but, like I said I just wanted to say thank you. That word can really hurt people and I’m happy to see that someone agrees with me.”

Bobby, the _dick,_ loops an arm through Johnny’s, giving the Rhonda an _aw chucks_ smile that makes Rhonda’s cheeks go up in flames. 

“It means a lot to us, ma’am,” Bobby says, digging an elbow into Johnny’s side. “Right, honey?”

Johnny plasters on his smile he reserves for the country club, elbowing Bobby back even harder in the ribs. “So much.”

Rhonda smiles, placing a hand over her heart. “You guys make such a cute couple.”

Someone steps out from the diner and shouts her name, waving her over with annoyed look on their face. 

“Oops,” she says, backing away with an apologetic smile, “I have to get back to work. Enjoy the milkshake!”

“We will,” Bobby shouts back, giving her a bright smile and a wave that could rival Princess Diana’s. 

When she disappears, Johnny shoves him away with a scowl while Bobby howls with laughter. 

“You’re such an asshole,” Johnny says, annoyed. 

Bobby ignores him, wiping tears out of his eyes. “Shit man, I did you a favor. I thought Rhonda was gonna start swooning and asking to feel your muscles.”

He reaches for the milkshake, but Johnny shoves him a way, cradling the styrofoam cup to his chest protectively. 

“Hey man, back off. This is my milkshake, okay? I earned it.” Johnny says and takes a sip. He leaves out the part where he was planning on bringing one back to Daniel, but then he punched Dutch and all thoughts of ordering a milkshake to go seemed to go by the way side as a result. 

Rhonda just saved him an embarrassing trip back inside. 

Plus, it’s chocolate. Johnny prefers strawberry anyway. 

(He doesn’t, actually, he’d been drinking a chocolate shake earlier and it seems as though Rhonda had remembered that when making this one for him. He also knows chocolate is Daniel’s favorite ice cream flavor and Johnny knows he’ll need a pick me up after his combined doctors appointment and physical therapy appointment).

Bobby just rolls his eyes. “Whatever, man, tell LaRusso to enjoy the milkshake.”

_Fucker_

Johnny flips him off over his shoulder as he unlocks his car, ignoring Bobby’s laughter as he makes sure Daniel’s milkshake is safely in the cup holders before Johnny gets in.

“Oh, hey, man, before I forget,” Bobby says, grabbing Johnny’s door. “Tommy’s parents are going away for New Years and he’s throwing a party. He was gonna tell you about it today, but then…” Bobby trails off awkwardly. “Anyways, you should bring Daniel.”

Johnny bites his lip. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Bobby rolls his eyes, waving a hand. “C’mon, man, all this stuff will blow over and besides,” Bobby adds, lower his voice, “if this thing with you and LaRusso is serious, they’re going to have to at least get used to the idea of you two being friendly with each other. What better way to do that than a party?”

Johnny still doesn’t feel convinced. “I don’t know, man.”

Bobby shrugs. “Just think about it. Oh and don’t forget to Daniel I’d like to come over and visit him sometime.”

Bobby taps on the roof in goodbye and Johnny watches him go, mentally adding two more things to an already growing list of things he most definitely doesn’t want to think about. 

*

Daniel’s not out on the couch when Johnny lets himself into his apartment. It doesn't exactly make Johnny panic, _per se,_ but the change in the routine momentarily throws him for a loop and he’s left standing in the doorway, a sinking feeling in his belly. 

Normally Daniel’s waiting for him, TV on whatever rerun is showing this late in the afternoon (Daniel still hasn't managed to convince his mom to spring for cable TV), smile on his face no matter how worn out or tired he is. There’s those rare days where he pushes himself too hard in physical therapy and not even the pain pills make the pain stop. On those days, Daniel usually ends up in his room and doesn't move for the rest of the night. On those days, Johnny will sit on the floor of his room, next to Daniel’s bed and read one of his comic books to him or just talk to him—tell him stories about the antics he’s gotten up to with Tommy, Jimmy, Bobby and Dutch or stories about his mom. Anything to make Daniel smile and forget about the pain that Johnny wishes, more than anything, that he could take away. 

Johnny’s guilt is almost unbearable on those days, pressing down on his chest and making it almost impossible to breathe or think of anything else but the memory of Kreese telling him to sweep the leg. The cold look in his blue eyes when he whispered _no mercy._

Johnny shakes himself from the memory.

_LaRusso needs you,_ Johnny reminds himself, _this isn't the time to feel sorry for yourself._

Steeling himself, Johnny makes his way down the hallway, to Daniel’s room. The door’s propped open and Johnny takes that as an invitation to let himself in, shutting the door behind him. 

Daniel’s asleep on his bed, chest rising and falling evenly, lips parted,curled up under the covers in a position that doesn't look comfortable in the slightest, but Daniel looks peaceful, so that’s something, at least. Johnny sets the milkshake down on his nightstand, kicking off his shoes and this time, instead of taking his usual spot on the floor, Johnny slides in behind Daniel, carefully curling around his body. 

Daniel stirs, lashes fluttering, but he doesn't wake up. He just rolls over, snuggling into the collar of Johnny’s t-shirt, body going lax with sleep. Johnny makes sure his knee is in a comfortable position before he relaxes back into the pillows, fingers finding their way into Daniel’s soft waves and even in sleep, Daniel leans into the touch, humming. 

Johnny isn't sure how long he lays there—Daniel curled into his side, his warm breaths teasing over the skin of Johnny’s neck, hair tangled around Johnny’s fingers. But he feels more at peace here than he’s felt all day—after his mom, that thing with Dutch at the diner, Bobby finding out about…whatever this is with Daniel. 

It’s been a trying day, but here, now, Johnny didn’t feel so lost at sea. He feels buoyed, anchored. Calm. All that anger and frustration, the itch that’s been there since the tournament, has…not completely gone away, but it doesn't feel as…heavy. Not as…important, maybe. 

Here, with Daniel in his arms, Johnny feels almost _balanced._

(And later, when Daniel wakes up, he drinks the milkshake Johnny brought him—even though Johnny’s sure it’s gone all foamy and warm by now—and tells him about his doctor’s appointment and how he can now bend his knee fifteen degrees which—

“—may not sound like much, but it’s better than nothin’,” Daniel says excitedly around the straw, eyes shining. 

Johnny can’t help but lean in and press a kiss to his lips, tasting the sugarysweet chocolate milkshake and _Daniel._

That kiss turns into another one and another one and another one and by the time Daniel’s mom comes home from work, Daniel and Johnny have to scramble to get their clothes back on just in time for Lucille to knock on Daniel’s door. Judging by the amused look she shoots them, she’s not fooled for a second, but she invites Johnny to stay for dinner, so Johnny takes that as her seal of approval. 

She also frets and worries over his black eye and split lip like a concerned mother and it’s just… _nice_ , to be fussed over, for once. Daniel grins at him from across the table, relieved to not be the main focus for once and Johnny may or may no soak it up like a sponge that hasn't seen water in days. 

And when she goes to bed with the reminder for them not to stay up too late, Johnny and Daniel wait all of three seconds after they hear her door click shut before they pounce on each other— laughing and giggling, kissing anywhere they can reach, sucking bruises into each others skin and it’s—everything Johnny wants and more. 

It’s not until he’s on his way home that he realizes he never mentioned what happened at the diner or Bobby or the New Years Eve party. 

He’ll do it tomorrow, he tells himself). 

*

Johnny doesn't do it tomorrow

*

Or the next day

*

Or the day after

*

_Today’s the day_ , Johnny tells himself as he enters the apartment. _Today’s the day, I’m gonna tell him about Dutch and Bobby and ask him to come to the party with me. Like a date._

But then he catches sight of Daniel lying on the couch, in a pair of cut off shorts and nothing else and all thoughts of Bobby and Dutch and a party get swept away in heated kisses and feverish touches. 

_Tomorrow,_ Johnny promises himself as Daniel falls asleep on his chest that night, _I’ll tell him tomorrow._

*

(He doesn't tell him tomorrow….

but he’s going to _really_ …

…eventually)

(Maybe)


	2. ...well the landslide will bring you (down).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys! It's here, the final chapter to this installment :) This one has been a true labor of love for me, it took a lot out of me, but I'm so pleased with the way this installment came out. Writing Johnny has been such a genuine pleasure for me and I really enjoyed getting to explore his mind. A lot of fic focus on Johnny from Cobra Kai but I really wanted the chance to explore teenage Johnny and get a feel for who he was, what he went through, after that first movie and getting the chance to bring that to life has been so awesome for me, so thank you for indulging me. 
> 
> This is definitely not the end to this series, either. I'm planning a few more stories for these two, I'm even toying with a multi-chapter story of these two navigating a M/M relationship in the hallways of a high school in the mid 80's, but nothing has been set in stone yet. I have started writing other fics for this series, however and they'll be posted soon. 
> 
> I've also made a Spotify playlist for this series, if anyone is interested. It has songs referenced in the series as well as other ones I feel like go with this universe. It's what I listen to when I write these two and you can find that here--https://open.spotify.com/user/briamaire/playlist/43VwgbHi6SsjWJ92M5mD8D?  
> si=X0xtIhD3SFGZtO9flcbA_g
> 
> If the link doesn't work, my user name is briamaire and the title of the playlist is shades of healing :)
> 
> Thank you guys so much for the love and without further ado, more LawRusso goodness :)

Johnny’s really not sure how he got roped into this—one minute, they were laying on the couch, watching a re-run of _Gilligan’s Island_ (well, kind of. Daniel was underneath him, moaning and gasping and Johnny happened to catch the tail end of the episode, so it counts) and the next, Daniel was sitting shotgun in the Firebird while Johnny drove them towards the beach. 

(Johnny does actually know: Daniel had been kissing and licking his way down Johnny’s neck and their hips were grinding even though they’d just come not even a few minutes ago and then Daniel hit him with full force of those Bambi eyes and asked him to take him to the beach and Johnny was helpless to comply). 

So even though its all of sixty degrees outside and it’s only getting colder as the day goes on, Johnny finds himself taking a couple blankets out of the backseat of his car and trying not to fret over Daniel too much as he hobbles through the sand on crutches. 

Which, isn’t going very well. 

The crutches keep getting stuck in the sand and Daniel— who’s built up muscle over the last few months from training but hasn’t been physically active for a month and half—is getting tired and frustrated and in his aggravation, almost trips and tumbles, but Johnny catches him with a quick arm around his waist. 

“Whoa, easy there, LaRusso,” Johnny says, gently setting him up right. “Here, let me—“

Johnny takes the crutches from Daniel, tucking them underneath his arm. He holds the blankets out to Daniel, who takes them with a confused look on his face. 

“Johnny, what are you— _hey_!” Daniel shouts, voice going up a few octaves as Johnny scoops him easily into his arms. “Johnny, put me down!”

“Would you relax?” Johnny says with a roll of his, carefully arranging Daniel in his arms so his left knee is comfortable and not pressing down too hard on Johnny’s forearm. 

“Okay, first of all: I ain’t no _chick_ that you can just manhandle, man _,”_ Daniel protests, which totally contradictsthe fact that his lanky arms are currently coming up to wrap around Johnny’s neck. 

Johnny fights back a smirk.

“And second of all: how the hell do you expect me to relax when you’re going to _drop_ me—“

“The only way I’m going to drop you is if you don’t stop _squirming_ —“

“—I wouldn’t be squirming if _someone_ woulda just told me what they were plannin’ on doing,” Daniel mutters petulantly, but he settles in Johnny’s arms, tucking his head underneath Johnny’s chin and Johnny can’t help the smile that spreads across his face or ignore the warm feeling spreading through his veins. 

He presses a kiss to Daniel’s hair in a silent apology as he treks them carefully across the sand. Once they reach a spot they deem acceptable, Johnny sets Daniel carefully on his feet, trading the crutches for the blanket. He lets his touch linger until he’s sure Daniel is stable and then he focuses his attention on spreading the blanket out in the sand, helping Daniel down on to it once Johnny deems it sitting worthy. 

Daniel already looks more relaxed, spread out on the blanket, shoes kicked off, bare feet playing in the sand, breeze blowing his hair around his face and Johnny decides that’s worth freezing his nuts off for—see that utter contentment on Daniel’s face as he basks in the late afternoon sunlight.

Johnny plops down next to him, shivering in his leather jacket and flannel. He’s happy he thought to bring a second blanket, wrapping it around his shoulders, offering it to Daniel, who shakes his head. 

“How are you not cold?” Johnny demands, cocooning himself in the warmth. 

Daniel smirks, brown eyes hidden behind his stupid aviators he insisted on wearing. Johnny thinks they’re a little too big for his face, making him resemble a bug, but it’s kind of _cute_ in a way that only Daniel LaRusso can be. 

“This is nothin’. You should see some of the winters I had to deal with back in Jersey,” Daniel says, putting his hands behind his head, tilting his face towards the sun. “Snow and rain and the cold—it was the type of cold that you can never get warm from. Our old apartment never had good heat and I would have to sleep underneath all these blankets to stay warm,” Daniel grins, shaking his head. “You southern Californians got it so easy, man, you don’t even know.” 

“Yeah, because earthquakes, mudslides, and fires are _so_ much better than some rain and snow,” Johnny says dryly. 

Daniel shrugs. “Guess that just goes to show the grass ain’t always greener, huh?” 

Johnny hums because yeah, okay, _point._

“But it’s not all bad here,” Daniel continues. “I like the sunshine and the ocean. People are nicer here, too,” a pause and then, “well, _most_ people, anyway.” 

Johnny swats at the back of his head and Daniel laughs, grabbing Johnny’s hand before he can pull it away, intertwining their fingers. 

Daniel’s hand is warm, _so warm_ , and it feels good— _right_ —a welcome weight in the palm of Johnny’s cold hand.

“Do you think you’ll ever go back? To Jersey, I mean.” Johnny asks after a beat of silence.

Daniel hums, but otherwise doesn’t answer right away. It’s not _that_ important of a question, but it also kind of is, to Johnny anyway. And Daniel must sense it, because when he answers, he seems to weigh his words carefully. 

“I don’t thinks so,” Daniel murmurs. “I’m not sayin’ it’ll never happen—who knows where the future will take me. But I’m not really thinking about going back, to live, at least. Where I was from, there wasn’t much in the way of opportunity. You either dropped out of high school and joined the mob or you finished high school and went to work at a factory making car parts or working in a local mom and pop shop,” Daniel shrugs. “It’s why my ma wanted us to move out here. She didn’t want that kind of life for me. And at first, I was pissed, you know? I couldn’t understand why she’d wanna leave our whole family and move all the way across the country where we wouldn’t know anyone. And then we got here and for the first few days, it didn’t seem so bad, until—“ 

Daniel bites his lip, huffing a soft laugh because they both know what those first few months were like for him. “Well, I begged my mom to let us move back, but she always told me that ‘LaRusso’s don’t quit’ and I guess I’m glad she didn’t listen to me, in the end.” Daniel says, giving Johnny’s hand a quick squeeze. 

Johnny swipes his thumb over the back of Daniel’s knuckles in response, praying that Daniel blames his red cheeks on the cold. 

“I’m glad you stuck around, too,” Johnny admits quietly, biting the inside of his cheek. 

“Man, who woulda thought?” Daniel says with a teasing quirk of his lips. “Johnny Lawrence is actually happy about my presence.”

Johnny shrugs, a small smile dancing on his lips. “You’re not all that bad, LaRusso.” 

“Screw you, I’m a delight.” 

Johnny grins, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Maybe later.” 

His grin widens when he hears Daniel suck in a sharp breath and Johnny doesn’t have to see his eyes to know his pupils are dilated, eclipsing the brown, a sure sign of his desire. 

“ _Fuck,_ you can’t just— _say_ things like that, Johnny,” Daniel says, shifting his hips. “Not in public, at least.” 

“You were the one that brought up screwing,” Johnny reminds with a smirk. 

“Not like _that,_ you asshole,” Daniel huffs, cheeks flushed red, teeth gnawing on his lower lip. 

Johnny’s belly heats at the sight. “Don’t do that,”

Daniel shoots him a weird look. “I’m doin’ anythin’, Johnny, what are you—“

Johnny nods to Daniel’s lower lip, which is still stuck between his teeth. The skin is flushed red, slick with spit and swollen and _fuck_ , does Johnny want to lean down and taste it.

“You’re biting your lip,” Johnny murmurs, swallowing heavily. 

Daniel hums, swiping his tongue along the marks his teeth left behind. “Yeah? What about it?” 

Johnny shifts, feeling himself harden in his jeans. “Stop doing it.”

Daniel’s eyebrows raise in challenge, teeth still tugging on that _damn_ lip and Johnny can’t look away—

“You gonna make me, Johnny?” Daniel whispers, jutting his chin out in a silent dare. 

Johnny growls. “You little—“

“Johnny?” 

Johnny and Daniel’s heads whip up simultaneously at the new voice, hands ripping a part like they caught on fire. 

Bobby’s not fooled, however, if the amused twinkle in his eyes is anything to go by. 

“Bobby, hey,” Johnny greets, shooting him a glare. “What are you doing here?” 

Bobby nods down the beach, where his parents are setting up what looks to be a bonfire; Claire, Bobby’s little sister, is running around with an open bag of marshmallows while their dog, Sandy, chases after her. 

“Mom and Dad are going down to my grandparents for New Years Eve, so they wanted to do our beach bonfire a day early,” Bobby explains, eyes shifting towards Daniel, who is sitting, tense, at Johnny’s side. 

“Hey, Daniel,” Bobby greets, giving him a hesitant smile.

Daniel jerks his chin. “Hey man, how’s it going?” 

Bobby shrugs, biting his lip. “Not bad,” he answers, eyeing Daniel’s knee, Bobby swallows nervously. “How’s uh, how the knee going?” 

“It’s on the mend,” Daniel says. “Kind of slow going, but I’m getting there.” 

Johnny knows Daniel’s glossing over it, underplaying the entire thing because that’s just the type of person he is. And Johnny feels a rush of gratitude towards him for it. 

Bobby nods, looks away and Johnny can physically _see_ the guilt eating Bobby alive. 

“Look, Daniel, I know it’s not—it won’t change anything, but I’m really sorry,” Bobby says when he finally looks at Daniel, blue eyes wide and genuine. “I never should’ve done that to you. I should’ve—Kreese—“ Bobby takes a breath, blows it out and it mists in the cold air. “Hurting you like that will be something I’ll regret for a long time, man. It wasn’t right.” 

“It wasn’t right,” Daniel agrees. At Bobby’s crestfallen expression, he adds, “But I don’t want you beating yourself up over it, either. Your sensei is—well, he’s a scary dude and Mr. Miyagi says there’s no such thing as a bad student, only a bad teacher. So, I don’t blame you, not really.” 

Bobby’s shoulders relax and Johnny could kiss Daniel, right here, right now, for how gracious he’s being. Bobby has always been the most sensitive out of all of them, feeling things a little deeper and Johnny knows, without their conversation the other day, that the remorse has been weighing heavily on his mind.

“Now that whole thing at the soccer tryouts—“ Daniel starts, just to be a shit, but Johnny can hear the teasing tone and so can Bobby, who just rolls his eyes and grins. 

“Hey, man, that was all Johnny. And besides, you slugged me pretty good, if I recall—“

Daniel grins, bright and proud. “I did, didn’t I?”

Bobby laughs, rolling his eyes again. “I think Johnny’s a bad influence on you.” 

Daniel shrugs, shooting Johnny a secret smile. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I think it’s pretty even.” 

Johnny flushes. “Whatever, LaRusso.” 

Bobby raises his eyebrows, but before he can comment, a voice that Johnny recognizes as Karen’s—Bobby’s mom— is calling him back over. 

Bobby waves in acknowledgement before he turns back to Johnny and Daniel.

“I gotta go, but I’ll see you at the party tomorrow night, right?” Bobby asks, looking between the two them expectantly.

Daniel pauses, taking his sunglasses off, shooting Johnny a confused look. “Um—“

“We’re still thinking about it,” Johnny cuts in, shooting Bobby a glare that says _I know where you live and I’m going to kill you in your sleep._

“Oh,” Bobby says, wrinkling his eyebrows completely obvious. “Well, if this is about what happened with Dutch the other day—“

Now Daniel looks even _more_ confused, looking between Johnny and Bobby suspiciously. 

God _damn it_

“—you know he’s over it already. It’s not the first time you two have gotten into it. Even if you did break his nose—“

“You broke someone’s nose?” Daniel demands, eyebrows shooting up. 

_Shit_

Bobby pauses, eyes flickering between them—Johnny, who’s glaring at him like he wants to kill him and Daniel, who looks totally lost and annoyed.

“Wait, you didn’t—“ Bobby starts, biting his lip anxiously. “You didn’t tell him?” He asks, lowering his voice, like Daniel isn’t sitting right _there_

“Uh, tell me what?” Daniel demands impatiently, 

Johnny sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

_Fuckfuckgoddamnshit_

“Bobby, don’t you have somewhere to be?” Johnny reminds him with a tense smile, raising his eyebrows in a way that says _get the fuck away from me before I beat you to a pulp._

And Bobby—Bobby _fuckin’_ Brown reads it, loud and clear and a little too late. 

“Right, um, well,” Bobby says, giving Johnny a sheepish smile. “See you guys later, I guess. And Daniel, hey, I’m glad I ran into you. I told Johnny I’ve been meaning to come over and talk to you—which, um,” Bobby falters, when Daniel scoffs, shaking his head, glaring at Johnny like he wishes he could kill him with just his look alone. “I gather he didn’t tell you either?” 

Daniel shoots Bobby a tight smile, but his eyes never leave Johnny’s face. “Apparently there’s a lot he hasn’t filled me in on.” 

Bobby chuckles nervously, backing away. “Well, uh, I’m gonna let you guys—yeah, later.” 

Bobby shoots Johnny one last guilty look and mouths _sorry_ and Johnny answers with him another death glare. 

When Johnny turns back to Daniel, it’s to find him already standing, struggling to bend down and grab his crutches from where he laid them on the ground. 

“What are you doing?” Johnny demands, scrambling to get up and offer him help.

Daniel slaps his hands away, brown eyes flashing dangerously. “I don’t need your help.”

“The hell you don’t,” Johnny snaps back when Daniel bends his left knee a little too much, a grunt of pain leaving his lips without his volition. 

Johnny tries again to reach down and assist him, but he’s met with a stony glare and a snarled, _“Don’t.”_

Johnny blows out a frustrated breath. “Just let me help you, dammit. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

But Daniel ignores him, somehow managing to scoop up his crutches with a triumphant grin that dampens when he stands up too fast and his knee spasms in a way that Johnny can physically _see_ and it looks down rightpainful, if the way Daniel’s face scrunches up is any indication. 

“Are you alright?” Johnny demands, anger momentarily forgotten. 

“I’m _fine,_ ” Daniel spits, yanking away from Johnny’s out stretched hand. “Don’t worry about me. I don’t need you.”

Johnny ignores the way those words hit like a direct blow to the chest—focusing, instead, on the anger rolling like lava through his veins, making his fists clench so hard, his knuckles pop. 

“Jesus, what the hell is your problem?” Johnny snaps, but it’s such a stupid question— one that he already knows the answer to and judging by the incredulous look on Daniel’s face, he’s thinking the same thing. 

“ _My_ problem? You wanna know what _my_ problem is?” Daniel snaps back, cheeks flushed in anger. 

Johnny rolls his eyes and can’t help the sarcastic, _“Obviously_ , LaRusso, or I wouldn’t of asked.”

It only serves to make Daniel madder, big brown eyes sparking like embers that glitter dangerously in the setting sun. 

“God, you are such a fuckin’ _asshole,”_ Daniel says with a scoff, but it doesn’t hide the way his voice is shaking. “You’re really gonna stand there and pretend like you don’t understand why I’m pissed at you?”

Johnny swallows, but doesn’t say anything. 

Daniel chuckles and it sends a shiver of fear down Johnny’s spine. “Yeah, why am I not surprised?” He mutters to himself. Shaking his head, he steels himself and levels Johnny with a look of faux patience. “Alright, fine, we’ll play this your way. Lemme ask you somethin’, Johnny, when were you gonna bother tellin’ me you got into a fight and you apparently broke someone’s nose?” Daniel pauses, raising his eyebrows expectantly but Johnny stays silent. “Okay, let me guess, it’s somehow none of my business, right? _Right._ ” He says, asking and answering his question in a way that’s just—so goddamn _irritating._

“It wasn’t important,” Johnny finally says, finding his voice. “Dutch was just running his mouth about stuff he doesn't understand—“

“So you break his nose?” Daniel demands, wrinkling his eyebrows like he’s genuinely confused. “Johnny, you can’t just go around— _punching_ people—“

“He was talking about _you,”_ Johnny snaps, temper finally igniting. “He was saying things, about you and I was—“

“What? _Defending_ me?” Daniel says, waving his hands about in a _oohh_ gesture that’s just… _so fucking annoying_ that it sets Johnny’s teeth on edge and make his fists coil tighter. “You broke his nose, Johnny, that’s not—that’s not okay—you can’t just _punch_ your way out of everything—“

_Everything’s a fight for you, Johnny_

_Cobra’s aren’t weak_

“Well, I guess the next time someone wants to call you a _faggot_ , I’ll just let them,” Johnny sneers, taking a step closer, heart hammering in his chest. He can feel the words on his tongue, but he can’t do anything from spilling out and over. 

_No mercy_

“After all, that’s what you _are_ , isn't it? A _faggot?”_

Daniel recoils as if Johnny physically hit him and there’s a part of Johnny, a dark, twisted part that revels in it—the rush of landing a painful blow, the satisfaction of knowing he’s cut his enemy down to his knees and there’s a voice that sounds a lot like Kreese that whispers _finish him, finish him._

Johnny can feel his fists twitch at his sides, feel the muscles of his shoulders coil, tightening, _aching_ to rear back and feel the momentum of his body, propelling itself forward, feel the power and the rush of blood in his veins as his fists connects with soft skin, feel the bone crush and give with the force of his anger as he punches through his target, can taste it, can feel it, wants to feel it, aches for, thirsts for it—

_FINISH HIM! NO MERCY! FINISH HIM!_

—but then something cold washes over Johnny’s feet and it’s like being shocked out of a nightmare. Johnny blinks, glancing down and— _water,_ Johnny’s mind supplies, it’s water. _Cold water. High tide, the beach, too cold for the beach, why am I at the beach—_

Soft lips, whispered pleas— _C’mon Johnny, I’m like a prisoner in here, only leaving to go to doctors appointment and physical therapy. Besides, you love the beach, don’t you?_

A laugh, a moan as lips teased over his hammering pulse— _Yeah, in the summer, LaRusso. When it’s hot and you can actually enjoy it—_

_Daniel_

_Daniel’s the reason I’m here—Daniel, where’s Daniel—_

Johnny whips his head up and Daniel’s still standing in front of him and _oh, god—_

_“That’s what you are isn’t it? A faggot?”_

Remorse punches the air of Johnny’s lungs, stomach twisting in guilt and he opens his mouth to say something, _anything_ , but Daniel beats him to it. 

“So that’s what this is about?” Daniel whispers with a dawning realization. 

He doesn’t even sound angry anymore, just… _tired._ Disappointed. And it makes Johnny ache inside because this is what he _does_ to people. His mom, Ali and now Daniel and _this can’t be happening, no no no no—_

“Are you—“ Daniel starts, pauses, licks his lips, looks away like he can’t even _face_ the answer that Johnny has to give to whatever question he wants to ask. 

But this is _Daniel_ and Daniel isn’t afraid of _anything._ He’s not a coward, he doesn't back away or run from a fight or a problem. He faces it head on, with squared shoulders and his chin jutted out stubbornly, looking his opponent right in the eyes, a silent dare that they can either take or leave.

It’s how he’s looking at Johnny right now—eyes glinting like steel bronze in the setting sun, jaw clenched, feet hips width apart in the sand, like he’s preparing for a fight. Even with the crutches holding him up and taking most of his weight, he looks _strong_ in a way that Johnny will never be. 

It’s the same look he gave Johnny on the beach, in this very spot, months ago. The same look he gave Johnny when Johnny held his face, streaked with blood and blooming bruises, in his own hands, Bobby’s voice yelling at him to _stop it, Johnny, he’s had enough._ The same look he gave Johnny across the mat, almost two months ago, he right before he delivered the winning shot to Johnny’s face. 

_I’m right here,_ it says, _look at me, I’m right here. Take your best shot. But you’re going to look me in the eyes when you do._

“You’re ashamed of me,” Daniel says, but this time, it’s not phrased as a question. Because he doesn't need the answer that Johnny more than likely wasn’t going to give. He already has it. Because Daniel has always been better at reading Johnny than anyone Johnny’s ever known. Because Daniel knows to read between the lines, to hear what Johnny doesn’t say. 

And Johnny is an idiot for thinking this wasn’t going to blow up in his face sooner or later. 

“You’re ashamed of me—of _this_ —whatever this is that’s been going on between us,” Daniel continues, voice shaking with anger and something else that Johnny’s trying really hard not to think about. “It’s not real as long as no one can see it, right? That’s why you wanted to keep Bobby away, why you didn’t tell me about the party, what you did to Dutch,” Daniel smiles and it’s not nice, “because saying it out loud would mean that it’s true. Being around people— _your friends_ —means that you run the risk of someone knowing and well, we can’t have that, can we? Johnny Lawrence, Karate King of the Hill, being seen around town with Daniel LaRusso, suspected _fag.”_

_“_ That’s not what this is about,” Johnny snaps, but the anger is gone and there’s only a knee shaking level of desperation clawing at his gut. “I—Dutch, he’s an asshole—“

“—he’s not the only one,” Daniel mutters, but Johnny ignores him. 

“—I just didn’t want to deal with him or make you feel like you had to deal with it because of me,” Johnny says and it sounds weak, even to his own ears and Daniel isn’t buying it, not for a second. 

“You didn’t even give me the choice, Johnny,” Daniel says, frustrated. “I get to decide that, for me, you don’t get to make these choices for me. And I’m not stupid, alright? I wasn’t going to like, expect you to hold my hand or nothin’, but we could’ve just gone as friends, did you ever think of _that?”_

Johnny opens his mouth to snap back that _of course, I thought of that,_ but it dies on his tongue because, no, _no_ he didn’t think of that. It never really occurred to him, either, to just…bring Daniel along as a friend. Dutch would’ve been an asshole, either way, but Bobby, Tommy, Jimmy, they wouldn’t of minded. Ali still stopped by, from time to time, to check in on Daniel, they were friends still. And Freddy, even if they were from the wrong side of the tracks, him and his friends have always been cool with Cobra’s. It wouldn’t have been this…big thing and well _,_ doesn’t _that_ just make Johnny feel like an ass?

Daniel must take Johnny’s silence as answer enough, because he scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, didn’t think so.”

“Well, what the hell do you want me to do?” Johnny demands, throwing his hands up in the air in aggravation. “If you want to go to this stupid party, we’ll go—“

Daniel sighs in that way that Johnny is all too familiar with and the sad smile he gives Johnny is an echo of the one Ali gave him the day she broke up with him. 

_You just never learn do you, Johnny?_

“How about this: _you_ go to the party with all your friends, drink and have a fantastic time and we can just…forget that this ever happened, okay?” Daniel offers, turning on his heel to walk back up the beach. He adds, over his shoulder, lips twisting into an angry smirk, “And hey, by the way, Ali told me the other day that she broke up with her college boy, so looks like you’ll have someone to kiss on New Years.” 

It’s a low blow and they both know it, but it’s also a true testament to Daniel’s anger that he’d stoop that low to hurt Johnny, but it’s not like he doesn't deserve it. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Johnny demands, catching up to Daniel easily.

“Home,” Daniel snaps, right before he falters, crutches catching in the soft sand. 

“What, you gonna walk there?” Johnny snipes sarcastically, reaching out to steady him. He’s not surprised when Daniel yanks himself away from his touch, but it sends a pang through Johnny that he tries to ignore, but it’s there, like a bruise that just won’t heal. 

“If it means getting away from _you,_ then yes, gladly,” Daniel snarks, eyes flashing defiantly. 

“Just let me take you home, Jesus Christ,” Johnny says, running his hand through his hair in exasperation. 

Daniel laughs sardonically, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows heavily, looking away. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“I do get it, you’re pissed at me—“ Johnny starts, rolling his eyes but Daniel shakes his head, still not looking at him. 

“I mean, yeah I’m pissed at you, but that’s not—“ Daniel laughs and it sounds wet, choked, almost like—

When Daniel finally looks at him, Johnny feels all the breath get knocked out of him like he’s been sucker punched. Because, yeah, there’s anger in those big, fathomless dark eyes, but there’s also a glitter of tears that threaten to bring Johnny to his knees. 

“I thought you—I thought maybe you—“ Daniel tries, swallowing heavily, another wet laugh leaving his lips that sends a knife right through Johnny’s heart, “—who the hell knows what I thought,” Daniel mutters to himself with a sniff. “My point is Johnny—I can’t even look at you right now without wanting to either punch your stupid face or just—“ a few tears escape and Daniel swipes them away with the worn sleeve of his hoodie, chuckling darkly to himself. “I just don’t even want to be around you right now, okay? I don’t want to—look at you or listen to you or—“

He breaks off on a half sob half laugh and Johnny feels a stinging sensation in his eyes, a lump that’s hard to swallow around and his chest aches to the point of physical pain. 

“Danny, I—“ Johnny whispers, pleads and Daniel flinches away, shaking his head. 

“Please don’t—don’t call me that, not right now, not after you—“ 

_You hurt me._

Daniel doesn't say it, but they both hear it, lingering there, awkwardly, hovering between the two of them and it’s suffocating, how much Johnny wants to say, how much he wants to apologize but the words just won’t come. 

“Okay,” Johnny concedes, holding his hands up. “Just, please, let me—“ _fix this, apologize, hold your hand one last time, kiss you, taste you, just one more time_ —“let me take you home, okay? I won’t—I won’t ask you for anything else.”

Daniel looks like he wants to fight him, like he was to protest or object, but eventually he just nods, and for the first time since Johnny’s know him, he looks like all the fight, all that passion and fire, has drained right out of him. Like someone kicking sand over the embers of a bonfire, smothering the flames until they die off. 

Johnny tries really, really hard not to think about the fact that he’s the one responsible for blowing out that flame.

“Okay,” Daniel agrees, so quietly, it almost gets lost in the wind. 

But Johnny hears it and he savors it, because it’s last thing Daniel says to him for the rest of the night. 

*

Johnny drives home that night with plans to get shit faced drunk in the hopes of it erasing the memory of Daniel walking away from him and out of his life for good. Or at least make the empty feeling in his chest go away. But when he gets home and opens the fridge, he eyes the beer cans for a long time, before he slams the fridge door shut in frustration and stalks off to his bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him. The wood creaks ominously, but Johnny doesn’t care. 

He kicks his shoes off, uncaring where they land and falls into bed, snatching his Walkman off the nightstand as he goes.

It’s dusty from disuse and Johnny tries not to think of why he hasn't needed it lately. Tries not to think of Daniel’s apartment that’s become a safe haven over the last month. Tries not to think of nights staying up too late watching shitty TV movies, Daniel’s body a soft weight in his lap, gentle fingers brushing over the sensitive skin on the inside of Johnny’s arm. The way Daniel’s eyes sparkle in the low light from the Christmas tree that Lucille had yet to take down, even though tomorrow was New Years Eve. Tries not to think of days spent down in Mr. Miyagi’s shed, Daniel’s body heat warming Johnny from behind as he whispered instructions to Johnny on how to properly trim a bonsai tree. The feeling of his warm breath over the skin of Johnny’s neck. His huff of soft laughter whenever Johnny got frustrated or cracked an inappropriate joke about trimming _bushes._

Johnny shakes his head, putting his headphones over his ears, not even bothering to check to see what cassette is in the tape deck and presses play. 

He groans into his hands when he the music starts up halfway into his Fleetwood Mac tape, the ending notes of _Say You Love Me_ fading seamlessly into _Landslide._

Johnny was never a big Fleetwood Mac fan until he and Daniel stumbled upon Lucille’s old records one day. Daniel had pulled this one from it’s sleeve, eyes lighting up at the sight of it. 

He made Johnny swap the records out—uncaring that they were right in the middle of _A Night At The Opera,_ that they hadn’t even gotten to _Bohemian Rhapsody_ on the track list yet. Daniel had hit him with those big, Bambi eyes and Johnny had folded quicker than a house of cards. 

Daniel had melted back into the couch as soon as the first track started, while Johnny took the record sleeve from Daniel’s hands. He remembers the way their fingers brushed together, the _zing_ that had gone up his arm like he touched a live wire. 

Johnny remembers being completely unimpressed for the first few tracks— _Monday Morning_ was okay, _Blue Letter_ was _eh_ , _Warm Ways_ was kind of trippy and mellow, something he could see himself getting high to, a joint between his lips, letting the warm notes float over his head as the weed let him seep into the soft carpet underneath him—until he heard Stevie Nicks croon over the thumping bass track that was _Rhiannon._

The wonder must’ve shown on his face, because Daniel had shot him this smug _I told you so_ grin and Johnny was captured by it—Stevie Nicks’ voice and the way Daniel began to hum along to the song, eyes closed, lashes fluttering, plush lips framing the lyrics in a way that had Johnny entranced with the movement. 

The record had played on and Daniel lost himself in the music and when _Landslide_ came on he’d actually began to sing—his singing voice was higher than Johnny would’ve thought, but it harmonized with Stevie’s low, raspy voice, wrapping Johnny in a warm blanket of bliss and for a moment, Johnny had _felt_ high—loose limbed and languid, just listening to Daniel sing. 

That night, he’d swung by the music store and bought the tape and fell asleep listening to it, with the memory of Daniel, eyes closed and totally lost to the music burned like brand into Johnny’s mind.

The memory makes Johnny’s heart throb as he lays there, listening to Stevie Nick’s dreamy voice as she sings about her reflection in snow covered hills. And he wonders, as his eyes shut, if he’s ever going get another day like that with Daniel—the warm sun filtering in from the windows, the feeling of Daniel in his arms, his head on Johnny’s chest, Daniel’s singing to him as lay there, letting the music wash over them like calm waves on the shore. 

(Johnny also wonders if there’ll ever be a day where he doesn't destroy everything he touches). 

_And if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills,_

_The landslide will bring you down,_

_Oh, the landslide will bring you down_

_*_

Madonna is blasting so loud through Tommy’s parents state of the art stereo system, Johnny wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest if one of the speakers doesn’t blow by the end of the night. Half the Valley is currently swarming the house, dancing and drinking and counting down until the New Year. 

Normally, Johnny would’ve been right in the middle of it all, kicking ass at beer pong with Dutch, watching Bobby and Jimmy attempt to hit on all the hot babes and sneaking off to smoke weed with Tommy on the back porch right before the ball drops. 

But Dutch is still pissed at him from last week, Jimmy managed to actually bring a date to the party, Tommy had snuck off long ago with a girl underneath his arm and last Johnny saw, right before he ducked into the safety of the kitchen, Bobby had been caught up in conversation with Ali. A few months ago, that might’ve pissed Johnny off enough to start a fight right in the middle of the living room. 

But now, with a Daniel LaRusso shaped hole in his heart, Johnny had just rolled his eyes and gave Bobby a knowing grin, silently wishing Bobby luck. 

Bobby was the best of them and he’d be good for Ali—better than Johnny ever was, at least. 

Johnny snorts to himself, taking a sip of the beer that’s long gone flat and warm by now. It’s the same one Tommy had shoved into his hands as soon as he walked through the door and it tastes like ash in Johnny’s mouth, settling like lead in his stomach. 

He leans his head back against the cabinet doors, closing his eyes and wishing, not for the first since he walked through the front door, that he would’ve just stayed home. 

His head hurts, his chest feels like he’s been used as a warm up dummy in a dojo and he just… _really_ misses Daniel. 

Johnny had tried calling him when he woke up. Lucille had answered and told him Daniel was still sleeping. He’d waited another hour and tried calling again, but the line had just rang and rang and eventually, Johnny had just hung up. He gave it a few more tries, but after the last try, when he got a busy signal, he’d slammed the phone back down in the cradle, barely refraining from throwing the whole thing at the wall in his anger. 

He’d debated going by the apartment, but then he remembered the look on Daniel’s face—the hurt, the anger, the betrayal—and it was enough to keep him locked in his room all day, headphones over his ears, listening to that Fleetwood Mac tape over and over until the lyrics were engraved on his heart, burned like a brand into his brain. 

Johnny’s mind drifts to Daniel—wondering if he’s okay, if he’s thinking about Johnny, if he misses him as much as Johnny misses Daniel right now. If he feels like there’s a piece of him missing, without Johnny there. Because that’s what it feels like to Johnny—like something that should be there that _isn’t._ Daniel’s running commentary on the comings and going of the party, complaining about the music, his weight at Johnny’s side, his laughter, the knowing look he’d give Johnny when he saw Bobby and Ali together. 

Daniel is a social butterfly, he can talk to anyone about anything in a way that Johnny envies. If he were here, he’d be working the room, talking to Bobby about cars and comics, trying to dance with Ali despite his crutches and he’d look like a dork doing it, but somehow, it would be charming and cute and he’d shoot Johnny that annoying little smart ass smirk of his over Ali’s shoulder while she laughed and laughed at his antics. Dutch would probably try to goad Daniel into playing beer pong in another show of posturing, another attempt to show Daniel up and embarrass him in front of a house full of people. Daniel would rise to the challenge, even though Johnny’s willing to bet Daniel’s never played a drinking game in his life and somehow, the little shit would win and Johnny would have to swoop in before Dutch could attempt to take a swing at him. 

They could sneak off to the beach—tonight was a full moon and Johnny could imagine seeing it reflecting in Daniel’s dark and fathomless eyes, the way the fireworks would glimmer like stars in those dark depths, the way they’d paint his tan skin in technicolor when Johnny laid him out in the sand, going into the New Year with Daniel’s lips parting underneath his, Johnny’s name getting lost in the overhead _boom_ of the fireworks as they popped and sizzled over the ocean behind them. 

It’s a nice fantasy and because Johnny is a fucking _coward,_ he’ll never get to know if it would’ve ever come to fruition. 

Johnny smacks the counter top he’s sitting on in frustration, just as the kitchen door swings open and suddenly, he’s no longer alone. 

Ali stands in the doorway, hair loose around her shoulders, cheeks pink from dancing, matching the soft looking sweater she’s wearing. Her brown eyes widen in surprise at the sight of him, before they relax, her lipstick painted lips quirking up into a tentative smile. 

A tiny piece of Johnny’s heart twinges at the sight of her, but it doesn’t hurt anymore. It’s more of a bittersweet ache that Johnny knows will always be there, but it doesn't feel so _overwhelming_ , so all consuming, like it used to. Ali will always hold a special place in Johnny’s heart but he can say, with absolute certainty, that it doesn't belong to her anymore. Not like it did a few months ago, before Daniel LaRusso came waltzing into his life and turned everything upside down and upside right like some streetwise, smart talking tornado with a Jersey accent. 

“Oh, hey Johnny,” Ali greets, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. 

“Hey, Ali,” Johnny returns, giving her a half smile. 

The air around them isn’t _awkward,_ per se, but it’s not relaxed, either. They’ve carefully been avoiding each other since the tournament, orbiting around each other like planets, Daniel at their center, their common denominator, which has suited Johnny just fine. 

“It’s getting crazy out there,” Ali says, walking over to the kitchen island tograb a soda from where they’re piled haphazardly in a bowl that was once filled with ice. “I had to step away for a bit.”

“Yeah, Tommy went a little crazy with the invite list,” Johnny agrees, rolling his eyes. “I don’t even think he knows half the people here.”

Ali laughs, soft and tinkling—the sound like bells or wind chimes. “Probably not, but it’s Tommy, so I’m sure he’ll be friends with them by the end of the night.”

Johnny smiles and while this one feels a little bit more genuine, it still feels hollow, robotic. 

And Ali notices, tilting her head to the side quizzically, eyes narrowing. “Hey, are you okay?”

While Daniel may be the best at reading Johnny, Ali is a close second. She was always able to tell when something was wrong, always able to see past his defenses, no matter how many walls Johnny had tried to put up in the way of flirting and charming smiles. 

“I’m just not in the party mood, I guess,” Johnny says with shrug, giving her a small smile. 

Ali hums, eyes still narrowed, like she’s studying him, trying to work something out. “I’m surprised Daniel’s not with you.”

It’s an observation, but Johnny can hear the question behind it, the gentle probing as she tries to pinpoint what’s wrong. 

Johnny tries to keep his face neutral, shrugging again in a way he hopes comes across as nonchalant rather than jerky and nervous.

“Bobby told me he invited him,” Ali continues, taking a delicate sip of her Coke, eyeing him over the rim of the can. 

“Must not be in the party mood, either.” Johnny says dismissively, eyeing her suspiciously. 

There’s a knowing gleam in her eyes that doesn't sit well with him, like she knows more than Johnny does—which, isn’t too far fetched, if he’s being completely honest with himself. Ali was always way out of his league when it came to her brain. 

She’s doing that _thing_ that chicks do—this word game that Johnny’s always _hated._ It’s like some code they expect guys to be able to follow. Where they say one thing but it really means another or they’re saying something without actually coming out and _saying it_. Like they’re purposefully being selective with their words and guys are just supposed to… _figure it out_ on their own. 

The world would be a much better place if girls just said whatever the fuck they meant without all the headache inducing head games. 

“Well, that’s interesting,” Ali comments, snagging a chip from the snack tray. “Because I just saw him a few minutes ago.”

Johnny’s heart stutters to a stop before it picks up again at break neck speed. 

Daniel’s _here?_

Ali raises her eyebrows and Johnny realizes, with a blush, that he said that out loud. 

“Yeah, he came with Freddy and his friends,” Ali says, shrugging. “Got here about an hour ago,” she’s watching him closely now, but Johnny can’t bring himself to care. “Looks kinda like you do now—like he’d rather be anywhere else but here.”

Johnny bites his lip and looks down at his beer that’s dangling precariously from his grip, stomach twisting into knots. All night, Johnny had been thinking that Daniel was at home, alone, probably laid out on the couch watching TV or listening to records or reading his comic books. He never thought that Daniel would come to the party, especially not after what happened yesterday.

But now, as Johnny stares into the murky depths of his beer, he realizes, once again, that he underestimated LaRusso—because coming to the party, even after what happened yesterday, is exactly the kind of _screw you_ move that Daniel would pull. 

Johnny shakes his head, snorting to himself. 

“Fuckin’ LaRusso,” Johnny mutters with a scoff. 

“What’s going on, Johnny?” Ali asks softly. 

Johnny blinks—he’d forgotten she was even there. 

“Nothing, just—“ Johnny sighs, shaking his head with a self deprecating laugh. “I think I screwed up, Ali.”

“Let me guess,” Ali says, lips twitching. “Daniel got too close, you got scared, you said something stupid that hurt Daniel’s feelings and now, instead of trying to fix your mistake, you’re sitting here— _alone_ —pouting into the same beer you’ve had all night, thinking that you’ve lost him for good and a part of you is wondering, maybe, if he’s not better off for it,” Ali pauses, tilting her head to side, brown eyes glittering in the florescent lights of the kitchen. “Does that sound about right?”

Johnny’s torn between being impressed and annoyed—but there’s something else there, lurking in her eyes, that makes him instantly suspicious of her deduction skills. 

“You already talked to him, didn’t you?” Johnny asks, eyes narrowed. 

Ali grins cheekily. “A magician never reveals her secrets,” at Johnny’s unimpressed look, she concedes, “okay, _maybe_ I swung by today to check in with him and he ended up telling me everything.”

Johnny flushes, clearing his throat. “Ah, everything?” 

_“Everything,”_ Ali confirms, giving him a pointed look. “And I have to say, I wasn’t surprised—well, not as much as I should’ve been, I suppose,” she says with a furrow between her eyebrows. After a beat, she shrugs, adding, “It makes sense, now, why things were always so— _intense_ between the two of you.”

Johnny groans, rubbing his eyes. “Why does everyone keep _saying_ that?”

Ali giggles and Johnny shoots her a glare. “It’s not funny, Al.”

“Oh, c’mon, Johnny, it’s a little funny,” Ali counters with a soft smile. “Hey, imagine how I feel. Two of the guys I dated are now dating each other,” she shakes her head, giggling again, “I mean, what does that say about me?”

“We’re not dating,” Johnny mutters, but the flutter his heart gives at the thought of Daniel being _his_ and only _his_ begs to differ. 

And apparently Ali does, too, because she shoots him a knowing look. 

“Okay,” Johnny says, rolling his eyes. “Even if that _were_ true—which it’s _not—“_ he feels compelled to add at her victorious smirk, “—I did a pretty spectacular job of fucking things up, so.” He shrugs, glancing back down into his beer. He dumps it into the sink, tossing the cup in the general direction of the trash can. It banks off the side and rolls awkwardly underneath the counter. Johnny makes a mental note to pick up and throw it away whenever he decides to leave his perch on the counter. 

“Do you know why I broke up with you?” Ali asks suddenly and it’s such an out of the blue question that Johnny just blinks, wondering if he even heard her right. 

But Ali just blinks stares up at him, an unreadable look on her face and Johnny decides that he did, in fact, hear her right.

“Um,” Johnny starts, hesitates, but Ali just watches him, waiting for his final answer and suddenly, Johnny feels like he’s taking a test he didn’t study for. “Because I forgot your birthday?”

Ali laughs softly, glancing down at the counter she’s been absentmindedly tracing circles into since she asked the question. “Well, yeah, that was part of it,” she allows. “But there’s more to it than just that.”

When she looks back up at him, there’s something sad in her gaze and that piece of his heart that belongs to Ali, gives a weak tug. That familiar urge to beat up anyone who put that look on her face, to soothe the pain away, flares unexpectedly and it catches him off guard and amuses him, all at once. Because Ali never needed him to fight her battles for her and if she did, Johnny would’ve spent a lot time beating himself up, since more often than not, _he_ was the one responsible for putting that sad look on her face. 

Johnny doesn't say anything and Ali sighs, like she’s praying for patience. 

“It was more than that,” She repeats and Johnny wonders who she’s trying to convince. “Whenever we were together, I always felt like I was getting half of you—like there was this…part of you that I never got to see, that you kept hidden away,” she pauses, biting her lip. “Like you were always afraid to let your guard down. Like maybe, if you did, I wouldn’t like what I saw and I would run screaming in the other direction.”

Johnny suddenly wishes he would’ve drank that beer. And about six more, maybe. That was about the only way this conversation was going to be even remotely tolerable. 

“I thought maybe it was because of Cobra Kai or even your friends—Dutch, mainly—that you always felt this need to keep parts of yourself locked away. Maybe, that was part of it, but ultimately, I think you were too afraid to really love me.”

The words are soft, but they land like a physical blow, right in the center of his chest, punching all the air out of his lungs and leaving behind a sharp ache that makes him want to curl up in the ball on the floor and never get back up. 

Ali’s eyes are sad, but there’s no apology lurking behind the sadness. She means every words she’s saying and Johnny can admit that _maybe_ , she’s not wrong. And that makes the ache worse, because he knows, down to his bones, that it’s true. 

“There were other things, too, but that one,” Ali shakes her head, lips twisting into a self-deprecating smile, “well, how can you be with someone who doesn't love you?”

Johnny opens his mouth to argue, because he had adored Ali and everything about her. The way she smiled, the way she laughed, the smell of her hair, the way she wasn’t afraid to tease him or call him out on his bullshit when he pissed her off. The way it had hurt to lose her. 

But he closes it when he realizes that while he had missed her, had been upset at the thought of her moving on so quickly, it wasn’t this… _empty_ feeling he has currently chewing away at his gut. The way he’s been thinking of Daniel all night, wondering what he’s doing, wishing he was here, next to Johnny, his warmth and his smile and his big, doe eyes sparkling up at him like the sun rises and sets on Johnny. 

Johnny had missed Ali, in the general sense, but right now, Johnny can _physically_ feel Daniel’s absence—even if he is only a room away. 

And that really just says it all, doesn't it?

“I wanted to love you,” Johnny says quietly. “I think—maybe, I did, in my own way, but it wasn’t the way you deserved.”

Ali smiles faintly. “I know you did, Johnny. And you’re right,” she admits, shrugging, “I deserve more than what you were willing to give.”

It sounds an awful lot like _I deserve more than you_ and Johnny’s inclined to agree, but she shoots him a glare like she knows what he’s thinking. 

“But that doesn’t mean that you’re a bad guy, Johnny,” She says sternly, hands on her hips. “It doesn't mean that someone—a _specific_ someone,” she clarifies with a wink, “wouldn’t be lucky to have you. After all, dating you isn't _all_ bad.”

Johnny rolls his eyes. “Gee, thanks.”

Ali giggles, soft and melodious. “I mean it, we had our problems, but there was a reason I stayed with you for two years.”

Johnny smirks, wiggling his eyebrows and Ali rolls her eyes, slapping his shoulder. 

“Don’t be a pig,” She admonishes, cheeks flushing pink like her sweater. “I’m being serious—you could be very sweet when you weren’t so concerned about being cool,” Ali’s face turns serious as she continues, “I also think there’s parts of you—those parts you never wanted to share with me—Daniel understands. You guys have this… _connection,_ ” she pauses, a mischievous glint in her eyes, “it’s almost like you’re _soulmates.”_

Johnny groans. “Oh please, Ali, don’t even start with that bullshit. Do I look like Susan or Barbra to you?”

Ali laughs and eventually, Johnny does, too, albeit grudgingly. It starts with a twitch of his lips and then soon, they’re laughing together, the air light and friendly, unlike when she first walked in here. 

It’s an echo of the happier times of their relationship—laughing and teasing each other and being happy in each other’s presence. 

And it feels _good_ , Johnny realizes and he hopes that maybe, this could mean that he hasn’t lost her entirely. That they could maybe be friends and stop feeling awkward around each other. 

It’s a thought for another day, because soon they’re interrupted by Bobby, who bursts through the swinging door so fast, he almost hits himself in the face on the backswing, catching the door just in time. 

He looks panicked, eyes scanning the kitchen, exhaling audibly in relief when his eyes land on Johnny. 

“Johnny, you’ve got to get out here,” Bobby says breathlessly.

Johnny raises an eyebrow, chuckling. “If it’s Tommy trying to seduce a girl by dancing topless on the coffee table, man, you’re on your own with that—“

“Johnny,” Bobby interrupts, tone serious, blue eyes wide and nervous. “It’s Daniel.”

All the humor drains out of Johnny’s body and he leaps off the counter, gently shoving Ali out of the way and following Bobby out into the chaos that is Tommy’s living room. 

The music is still pulsing—Olivia Newton-John insisting _let’s get physical, physical, I wanna get physicalllll—_ but no one’s dancing, all their attention focused in the center of the room, where a loose circle has formed around two people, one of them being Daniel and the other one—well, Johnny would recognize that box bleached head of hair anywhere.

Dutch is circling around Daniel and his mouth is moving, but Johnny can’t hear what he’s saying over the music. Tommy and Jimmy are standing off to the side—Tommy looks coiled, like he’s ready to jump in if things get physical and Jimmy just looks confused, but Johnny can see his mouth turned down in a frown, his eyebrows wrinkled with worry. 

Daniel looks calm, but Johnny can see the way his eyes are tracking Dutch,the way his muscles are tensed, the way his weight has shifted to his good leg, the way his knuckles have turned white from the tight grip he has on his crutches. His jaw his twitching and Johnny knows it’s taking every ounce of patience Mr. Miyagi has instilled in Daniel to keep his cool. 

Dutch looks like a king holding court and Johnny can only imagine the sick things that are coming out of his mouth, the taunts he’s throwing to Daniel. Dutch has always been the more… _creative_ out of the five of them, when it came to insults. A lot of it is the rhetoric that Kreese had spewed to them over the years and Kreese didn’t have much use for anything if it wasn’t male, white and American. While Johnny, Bobby, Jimmy and Tommy had done a decent job at keeping those _particular_ parts of Kreese from spilling over into their own morals and beliefs, Dutch lived it and breathed it, like Kreese’s word was law and no other way about it.

It had always reminded Johnny uncomfortably of Sid—who was about as racist, sexist, classist and any other word ending in - _ist_ as they came. 

Come to think of it, there were a lot of parallels when it came to Sid and Kreese and Johnny didn’t really know what that says about him, to think that he could hate one with a passion that burned almost white hot and blindly idolize the other, like they both weren’t cut from the same kind of cloth. 

But while Johnny had idolized Kreese, looking to him as a replacement father figure, Dutch had _worshipped_ him. Like Kreese was a God and Dutch couldn’t help but worship at his alter, Kreese brought out the worst in all of them, preyed on it, encouraged it. Breaking them down to their base instincts and then built them up, using the worst pieces of themselves to shape and mold them into perfect little mindless soldiers. 

But when they left that dojo, they left those pieces there—at least they _tried_ to. Bobby, Jimmy and Tommy, they had perfect parents who loved them and doted on them. Johnny had his mother, on good days, when Sid wasn’t around. 

Dutch had nobody. Nothing. 

And when someone has nothing to lose, nothing to live for, that meant they really have nothing to gain, either. And that makes them dangerous. 

And Dutch is nothing but danger, with a capital _D._

He’s a mirror of Kreese and Johnny had never really truly realized it, until now, watching Dutch circle Daniel slowly, taunting him, winding him up, getting closer and closer with each complete orbit, a vicious smirk dancing on his lips, a familiar glint in his eyes and Johnny finds himself moving, pushing through the crowd, roughly shoving people out of the way and he knows without looking that Bobby is right behind him, hot on his heels. 

Dutch looks up at the same time Daniel does and Johnny meets his eyes, briefly, brown meeting blue and then Johnny looks over to Dutch, who’s smirk widens into a sneer. Well, as much as one can sneer with a broken nose.

“Well, _look_ who it is,” Dutch crows, teeth gleaming, sharklike, in the living room lights. “Johnny-boy, it’s about time you joined the party. Your little girlfriend here was worried about you,” Dutch adds with a mock pout, propping his elbow up on Daniel’s shoulder. 

Daniel tenses, uncomfortable, trying to shuffle out of the way, but Dutch throws his arm around Daniel’s shoulders, roughly pulling him back into his side. Daniel’s face twists up in pain and Johnny clenches his fists at his sides and tells himself to _be cool, be cool._

“Leave him alone, Dutch,” Johnny warns, stepping closer, but Dutch counters by stepping back, dragging Daniel with him. 

“What are you gonna do about it, Johnny?” Dutch challenges, eyes gleaming. “Huh? You gonna hit me again? Re-break my nose?” Dutch scoffs, slipping his arm around Daniel’s neck, muscles flexing as he tightens his grip. It’s the same hold Kreese had Johnny in, two months ago, in the parking lot after the tournament. Daniel’s face looks like Johnny imagines his did—panicked, scared, flushed red from the lack of oxygen and only getting darker. 

“You wouldn’t touch me, not when your little girlfriend could get hurt.” Dutch continues, smirking down at Daniel, who’s face is now turning purple

Johnny doesn’t know what to do—if he charges at Dutch, Daniel could get hurt, but if he doesn’t, Daniel is going to surely pass out from being unable to breathe. Because there’s no Miyagi here this time to save the day and Johnny knows, down to his core, that Dutch will follow through with it. Because that’s what Kreese would’ve done, had Miyagi not butted in. 

“Jesus Christ, Dutch, let him go!” Tommy demands, eyes wide and afraid and Johnny knows he’s thinking of that night, too. Of catching Kreese’s elbow to the face for trying to help Johnny.

“Shut up, Tommy,” Dutch snarls, looking down at Daniel like he’s to blame for all what’s wrong in the world. “This little faggot deserves it after everything he’s done to us, to Cobra Kai, to Sensei,” Dutch’s voice is filled with so much anger, so much contempt and it sends a shiver down Johnny’s spine and he wonders, if this is what he looked like that night of the Halloween dance. Bobby yelling at him that _he’s had enough, Jesus Christ what’s wrong with you, Johnny?!_

“What do think this is gonna solve, Dutch?” Jimmy says exasperatedly, always the voice of reason. “Cobra Kai is done and over with, Kreese is gone—“

It’s the wrong thing to say, because it only enrages Dutch more, his arm constricting around Daniel’s neck, muscles taught and Daniel’s eyelashes flutter, he can’t _breathe_ and Johnny feels helpless, he has to do something—

“He can’t breathe, let him go!” Tommy says, taking a step closer and it’s the opening Johnny needs, because it pulls Dutch’s attention away, distracting him, his grip loosening and Johnny chances it. 

Lunging forward, he swings, catching Dutch just as he turns back around, knuckles landing on his cheek and it sends him reeling backwards, stumbling but Daniel falls with him and for a brief moment, Johnny panics, but then Daniel slips out from underneath Dutch’s arm, jabbing him in the ribs with his bony elbow and it knocks Dutch off balance, sending him sprawling to the floor in a heap.

Daniel teeters, but Johnny reaches out to steady him, hands on his waist, heart squeezing when he feels the way Daniel’s ribs expand and contract with his labored breaths. 

“Are you okay?” Johnny demands softly, eyes flying over Daniel’s face, his neck, which is red and will probably be bruised and sore tomorrow. 

“I’m okay,” Daniel assures, albeit shakily, chest heaving. “A little dizzy, but I’m good.”

Relief hits Johnny like a sucker punch, knocking the wind out of him and he aches to pull Daniel closer, to hug him and never let go, but they’re still in the middle of Tommy’s living room and people are still watching and then Daniel’s eyes flicker over Johnny’s shoulder and Johnny turns to look, has just enough time to shove Daniel away, but not enough time to dodge the fist flying at his face. 

Pain explodes in Johnny’s jaw and he can taste the blood from Dutch’s ring catching on his lip, tearing open the wound that was already there from Sid, but Johnny ignores it. 

He blocks the next punch, countering with a blow to the ribs and a swipe of his left fist against Dutch’s jaw and he finishes it with a hook kick to the face, which sends Dutch stumbling into Jimmy and Tommy, who each grab an arm, locking Dutch into a tight hold, that he tries to wriggle out of, but that only makes their grip tighter, more constricting. 

Dutch looks like a wild animal, almost feral, blood gushing out of his nose, lip split and swollen from Johnny’s fists, eyes bright and crazed as he jostles around in Tommy and Jimmy’s arms. 

“This isn’t over, Johnny,” Dutch hisses, spitting blood out on the hardwood floor, baring his red stained teeth. “You and that little faggot girlfriend of yours are dead, do you hear me?”

Johnny grins, sharp and menacing, getting right into Dutch’s face, reveling in the sliver of fear that lurks just beyond the anger in Dutch’s eyes. 

“If I ever see you so much as _look_ in his direction, I’ll rearrange your face so badly your own mother won’t even recognize you,” Johnny says lowly, voice filled with a dark promise. “Do you understand me?”

Dutch swallows heavily, eyes flickering between Johnny’s like he’s searching for weakness, a chink in in his armor and Johnny stares right back, unflinchingly, jaw clenched, daring Dutch silently with his eyes to even _try._

Because Johnny had no qualms about following through on his promise and Dutch knows it, too. 

Finally, Dutch nods once, sharply and Johnny smirks. 

“I’m glad we understand each other.” Johnny steps back, nodding to Tommy and Jimmy, “Get him the fuck out of here.”

Tommy and Jimmy don’t hesitate, keeping a tight grip on Dutch’s arms, they drag him out the front door and as soon as the door closes behind them, the party resumes—people go back to drinking and dancing like nothing happened. 

Johnny can still feel the anger coursing hotly through his veins, heart hammering a wild beat against his ribs and his jaw aches like a _sonofabitch,_ blood dripping steadily down his chin from the re-opened cut on his lip. 

But Johnny ignores all of it and focuses his attention, instead, on Daniel, who’s being looked over by a worried Ali and Bobby. Their eyes meet and Johnny winces when he sees the red marks from Dutch’s choke hold around the tan skin of Daniel’s neck. 

A part of him wants to run after Tommy and Jimmy to beat Dutch’s ass into the ground for leaving marks on his boyfri—on _Daniel,_ but the bigger part of him wants to scoop Daniel up and whisk him back to the safety of his little room, in that small little apartment in Reseda that’s become more of a home to Johnny than any place he’s ever been before and pretend this night never happened. 

That the last twenty-four never happened. 

But none of those are an option, not unless Johnny can find a time machine parked somewhere.

So he squares his shoulders and faces the consequences of his choices head on by walking over to Daniel, who’s waving off help from a concerned Ali and a guilty looking Bobby. 

“Johnny, man, I’m sorry,” Bobby begins, biting his lip. “I really thought Dutch would back off and he seemed cool when he came in, but then he saw Daniel and I talking and he just—lost it.”

Johnny waves him off. “It’s not your fault, Bobby. Thanks for coming to get me.”

Bobby nods and Johnny’s gaze moves over to Daniel, who’s eyeing the cut on Johnny’s lip with a frown on his lips, like that’s the worst injury that was sustained tonight. The red around Daniel’s neck is already beginning to turn purple and it looks like he’s having a hard time swallowing—Johnny knows, it sucks.

Their eyes meet and it’s… _awkward._ There’s a tension that wasn’t ever there before and Johnny knows he’s not the only one who feels it, because Ali’s gaze flickers between them, an amused smile on her lips. 

“Well,” Ali says, breaking the awkward silence. “I think we’ll leave you two alone to…clean up. C’mon, Bobby.”

Bobby, bless him, looks lost, but he follows Ali anyways, shooting Johnny and Daniel one last look of concern before they disappear into the kitchen together. 

Daniel meets Johnny’s eyes briefly, before they drop to Johnny’s still bleeding lip, his bruised jaw. Something flickers in his gaze, but before Johnny can catch it, it’s gone and he’s back underneath the scrutiny of those big, Bambi eyes, watching him with guarded concern. 

“C’mon,” Daniel says, crutching past him, towards the bathroom. “That looks bad and you’re bleedin’ all over Tommy’s floor.”

Hope blooms, tentative and fragile, in Johnny’s chest and he follows Daniel without protest, the crowd parting for them like Moses and the Red Sea. 

*

Johnny feels a wave of _deja vu_ wash over him as Daniel cleans the blood from his face with gentle fingers. The alcohol wipes are cold and they sting like a bitch, but Daniel’s hands are warm on his bruised jaw, grip tender and Johnny closes his eyes and revels in Daniel’s touch.

It’s only been a day, but Johnny’s missed the feeling of Daniel’s hands on his skin, the heat of his palms, the feeling of those long, slender fingers teasing over any patch of skin he could reach, like he wants to map every part of Johnny that he can.

Johnny’s eyes flicker open when he feels Daniel’s touch disappear, finding those big brown eyes already watching him. 

“You’re an idiot, you know,” Daniel murmurs, pulling away to throw the used wipes away and Johnny misses his warmth already. 

“That’s an odd way of saying ‘ _gee, Johnny, I really do appreciate you coming to my rescue’_ ,” Johnny says, sarcasm thick. “I mean, they don’t even come _close_ to sounding the same—“

“ _Wait wait wait_ , lemme get this straight,” Daniel starts, putting his hands up. “You want _me_ , to thank _you_?” 

It sounds like a bad De Niro impression from that one movie about the angry taxi driver that kills a lot of people and it makes Johnny’s lips quirk into a grin. Daniel catches it and it only adds to the spark of anger he can see simmering in those dark eyes.

Johnny shifts uncomfortably, clearing his throat and tries to put on his best _I’m listening, let’s talk about this_ face that he can. 

“I’m bein’ serious here, Johnny,” Daniel scolds, eyebrows pinched. “You actually expect me to thank you? None of this would’ve happened if you hadn’t of broken the guys nose—“

“I was defending your honor—“

Daniel snorts and Johnny ignores it, continuing. “—and you can’t tell me that Dutch didn’t have it coming. He’s an asshole.” 

Daniel raises an eyebrow, lips twitching with dark amusement. “Uh, I hate to break it to you, Johnny, but the guy has always been an asshole.” He points out and _yeah, okay fair point._

“Maybe,” Johnny concedes. “But,” he adds when Daniel looks a little too smug, “it’s different now.” 

Daniel hums, disbelieving. “And why’s that?”

“You know why,” Johnny says quietly after a beat of silence. 

“Do I?” Daniel says, grabbing one of those instant ice pack thingies and twisting it. It pops and hisses and when Daniel presses it, non to gently, to Johnny’s jaw, it’s ice cold. He shivers. 

“I would hope so,” Johnny says, hurt. 

Daniel gives him a small smile that’s more sad and nowhere near the neighborhood of happy. “Johnny, you kept me from your friends,” Daniel reminds him, as if Johnny had forgotten why he’s been deprived of Daniel’s presence over the last twenty-four hours,“you never told them that you came to see me, that you were hanging out with me. That we were friends. You kept Bobby away from me, even after he told you he wanted to apologize to me, which was kind of a dick move, by the way—“

“Well, it’s not like you were going around and telling everyone about me,” Johnny says, suddenly angry. 

Daniel laughs and it sounds bitter, ugly. “Who was I gonna tell Johnny?” Daniel demands, eye brows raised expectantly. “My mother? Mr. Miyagi? That’s about the extent of my social circle, no thanks to you and your little boy band of assholes,” Daniel adds, again, like maybe Johnny had forgotten that little tidbit, too. “All the people that matter to me, you’ve met already.” 

Johnny swallows and looks down at his lap, shame welling hot and heavy in his gut. 

“I just—it sucks, you know?” Daniel says after a moment of silence. “I thought—well I thought that like, I mattered to you, I guess.”

The ache in his jaw is nothing compared to the ache in his chest—it almost feels like a distant, phantom memory when Daniel’s words register in Johnny’s brain. 

“I—of course you matter to me,” Johnny breathes, a tight knot of anxiety forming in his chest. “Danny—you—you matter to me, _so_ much, I lo—“ he pauses, catching himself and thankfully, Daniel’s too distracted by his own anger to catch Johnny’s slip up.

_Too soon,_ Johnny thinks to himself.

Suddenly, the room feels too hot, the bathroom is too small and Daniel’s watching him with wide eyes and Johnny can hear the thumping bass of a Cindy Lauper song and he just needs to _get out._

“Look,” Johnny says agitatedly, running a hand through his hair. “Can we not do this here? I’m not—I’m not saying I don’t want to talk about this but I just— _not here_ , okay?” Johnny pleads. 

Daniel eyes him for a moment and the hesitation hurts, but Johnny understands it and forces himself to be patient. 

“Okay,” Daniel agrees after a minute. “Okay, we can—just— _no_ funny business,” he adds with a pointed look. 

Johnny’s lips twitch, a soft laugh escaping before he can help it. “I make no promises, LaRusso.”

*

The beach is quiet, the moon still full and Johnny slows his gait to a snail like pace because Daniel refuses to be swept up in his arms like some sort of damsel in distress and so he crutches, slowly, through the sand next to Johnny. 

Johnny thinks it’s more to the fact that Daniel’s getting a kick out of testing his patience, but _whatever._ LaRusso wants patience, Johnny will have the patience of a saint, _okay?_

They find a spot a few minutes later and Johnny lays out a few towels he managed to snag from the storage bin on the back porch before they left. He helps Daniel down on the towels before he seats himself and the _deja vu_ from earlier comes back, but this time Johnny hopes this trip to the beach ends better than yesterday’s. 

They sit there for a moment, listening to the calm waves, watching the moon reflect over the dark ocean. It’s peaceful and it sinks Johnny into a sense of calm and, keeping his eyes on the moon, he starts to talk. 

“I’m sorry,” Johnny begins quietly. “I never should’ve kept what happened last week a secret. I should’ve just been honest with you about Dutch and I—I really have no excuse for why I did what I did.” 

Johnny licks his lips and fiddles with a lose thread in the knee of his jeans. 

“He just...made me so angry,” Johnny breathes, voice shaking. “The things he said about you— I just—I think it made me angry because I was sitting there, listening to him talk about you and it was like looking in a mirror of who I was a few months ago and it just didn’t sit right with me,” Johnny shrugs, sighing. “So I punched him. And _god_ , it felt _so_ good,” Johnny admits, ashamed. “But for the first time, that rush of...hitting someone, causing someone else pain, it also scared me.”

Johnny shakes his head, huffing a laugh that’s bitter and sad. “Kreese was...he just had this way of...getting under your skin. Of building you up and tearing you down in a way that made you hunger for his approval. And to do that, you had to be more vicious than your enemy. Tougher. _Stronger_ ,” Johnny blows out a breath and tries to ignore the way his hands are shaking, “It’s hard to get that out of my head. It’s like I have this _instinct_ to just... _hurt_ people and I—what kind of person does that make me?” 

A soft hand reaches out and rests gently on top of his, long fingers threading through his and the relief that sweeps through him is enough to bring tears to his eyes. 

“Danny I—I never meant to hurt you,” Johnny whispers, almost pleadingly. “I’m just scared of... _everything_. Everything changing and I don’t—I don’t know how to be me without Cobra Kai—I’m always so fucking angry and I’m just tired of it—of being angry and scared and confused about what parts of me are _me_ and what parts are Kreese and Cobra Kai and—it’s got me all...messed up and I don’t know how to control it and—“

“Johnny,” Daniel soothes, scooting closer, grabbing his other hand. “Take a breath, okay? You’re okay, it’s just me and you and the ocean, okay?”

Johnny nods, inhaling shakily and exhaling just as roughly. There’s a pressure, sitting on his chest and it’s making it harder to breathe. It’s like being in a choke hold, all this weight pressing _down_ and Johnny can’t escape it, can’t fight his way out, he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe—

Daniel grips his hand harder and the touch grounds Johnny, back to the present, back here—to the beach, to the ocean, the feeling of sand on his feet from where, despite his best efforts, it’s gotten on to his towel. Daniel’s hand is a reassuring weight in his, anchoring Johnny so he won’t float away again.

“That’s it,” Daniel coaxes, tone low and calm. “Take another one, okay? I’ll do it with you,” Daniel breathes in, Johnny copies. Daniel exhales, Johnny exhales.

“Better,” Daniel says, voice soft. “Just do that for me a few more times, okay?” 

Johnny inhales. Holds it. Exhales. Does it again. And again, and again. 

Slowly, the knot of anxiety starts to untangle itself from its position over Johnny’s throat, making his breathing easier and his lungs feel less tight, the ever present anger laying dormant, for now. 

“Johnny, why didn’t you tell me any of this?” Daniel asks, once Johnny has calmed down. 

Johnny shrugs, playing with Daniel’s fingers. He can’t seem to look him in the eye. 

“I don’t know,” _liar,_ he thinks to himself, “I guess I just—Cobra Kai— _me_ —I’ve been the root of all your problems here and I guess, I don’t know,” _be honest be honest_ , he reminds himself, “I just thought it was weird...me admitting that I miss something that’s caused both of us so much pain and suffering.” 

The words sound stupid and Johnny can’t help but feel embarrassed. But when he chances a look up at Daniel, there’s a thoughtful look on his face that shouldn't surprise Johnny, but it does.

“That makes sense,” Daniel says. “And in some way, I understand what you mean. I mean, sure, it’s not the same thing, but,” Daniel shrugs, biting his lip. “I miss training with Mr. Miyagi—I’ve been feeling really restless lately, not being able to do anything and I know I haven’t been doing this as long as you but—“ Daniel pauses, like he’s searching for the right words. “Karate has become this... _part_ of me that I never really expected it to. It centers me, it grounds me and god knows it’s helped with my temper,” Daniel says with a soft laugh, “I may not understand why you miss a sensei that wanted to kill you and trained you guys to be assholes, _but_ —“ Daniel adds at Johnny’s glare, “I know that place was like a second home for you. That those guys—Bobby, Jimmy, Tommy and even Dutch—are like brothers to you.”

Daniel hesitates, before he continues, tone gentle, “I know Kreese made you feel like you were something, when you probably felt like you were nothing, but Johnny,” Daniel turns to him, facing him fully, giving Johnny the full force of those sincere baby browns, “you _are_ something. With or without Cobra Kai. With or without Kreese. With or without karate. And you’ll _always_ be something, even if you never go back to it. Because you, Johnny Lawrence, are _enough._ ” 

And like, the thing is, Johnny can’t help but believe him. Because Daniel’s look at him with those expressive eyes that are like, so earnest and it’s—Johnny’s _not_ crying, the wind is just really cold and he’s like, allergic to something, maybe. 

(It’s definitely not because that’s the nicest thing someone’s said to him in—well, he can’t really remember the last time someone had something so sweet to him. And that’s just, well, a tad bit pathetic). 

“Okay, okay,” Johnny says gruffly, clearing his throat, “you don’t need turn this into some weird, touchy feely after school special, LaRusso—“

Daniel rolls his eyes but there’s a smile dancing on his lips and Johnny knows, without having to ask, that he’s been forgiven but—

“I’m still sorry,” Johnny says quietly. “You got hurt because of me and this whole thing was— _so stupid. I_ was stupid.”

Daniel shrugs, rubbing his thumb over the back of Johnny’s bruised knuckles reassuringly. “Well, I guess that’s what I get for dating a blonde.” 

He shoots Johnny a sneaky smile and Johnny responds in the only way he knows how. He shoves Daniel (gently) into the sand, rolling on top of him, straddling his hips and wiggles fingers into Daniel’s sides. Daniel’s body is quaking with laughter, lips parted as he gasps and giggles, trying to wiggle away from Johnny’s ministrations. It’s dark, but the moon is full and Johnny can see the flush on Daniel’s lips, the tear tracks on his face from laughing so hard, the gleam of the moonlight reflected in dark pools of his eyes and he’s just— _so_ beautiful that Johnny can’t help but lean down and kiss him. 

Daniel respond eagerly, lips parting, opening up for Johnny like he expected this all along and Johnny melts into it—the warmth of his lips, the feeling of his tongue dancing and tangling with Johnny’s, the feeling of his hands tangling in his hair. It’s a rush of _DanielDanielDaniel_ and it hits Johnny in the center of his chest, trickling languidly, like warm honey, through his veins, heating him from the inside out. 

It’s only been a day, but it feels like a lifetime since Johnny’s felt the happy, lazy contentment that comes with having Daniel in his arms.

And it occurs to him then, that maybe this is what he’s been searching for, all this time. Why things with Ali never worked, no matter how much Johnny had wanted them to, at the time. Or why no amount of money could soothe the ache of not having a father in his life. Or why, no matter how many fights he won, it never really truly felt like _winning_. The ache of this missing piece has always been there, like a wound that never really heals. Why all of those things just felt like temporary fixes. 

Because this right _here_ —this skinny, long limbed, arrogant, smart mouthed Jersey punk—is what Johnny’s been missing all along. 

Johnny’s never felt more whole, more like himself, than he has these last few weeks. 

He’s finally found his missing piece, his balance. 

And it’s Daniel LaRusso—annoying, loud mouth, proud little Italian Jersey boy and all. 

The thought makes Johnny smile. 

But there’s still one thing that’s bugging him. 

“Are we?” Johnny asks between bruising kisses, pulling away to look down at Daniel’s face, smirking when Daniel chases after his lips, eyes still closed, like he can’t get enough and Johnny gets the feeling, _but—_

“Are we what?” Daniel demands impatiently through pants, eyes fluttering open, eyebrows furrowing into an annoyed scowl when he once again reaches up for Johnny’s lips and he’s denied. 

“You know, what you said earlier—“ Johnny says, cheeks flushing because he feels like a twelve year old girl passing her crush a note in class.

_Do you like me? Check yes or no._

_God how pathetic,_ he thinks to himself with a snort.

“What are you— _oh_ —“ Daniel breathes suddenly, when his scrambled brain registers what Johnny’s referring to and now it’s _his_ turn to flush bright red. He shrugs, biting his lip. “I mean, I’m not kissin’ anyone else or nothin’,” Daniel’s eyes are cautious when he adds, almost shyly, “I don’t really want to, either.”

Johnny has to duck his head to hide the dumb smile he _knows_ is on his face, cheeks flushed, heart fluttering with the overwhelming sense of happiness beating a erratic rhythm in his chest.

“I don’t really want you to kiss anyone else, either,” Johnny admits softly, looking up at Daniel from underneath his lashes. “Especially if they’re not me.”

Daniel rolls his eyes and Johnny knows he gets what Johnny’s trying to say.

“So,” Daniel says slowly, after a beat, voice hopeful, “we’re like— _together_ , then?” 

“Are you asking me to go steady, LaRusso?” Johnny teases, batting his eyelashes playfully.

Daniel sighs in exasperation, cheeks tinged pink. “You’re a dick.”

Johnny laughs, kissing the tip of his nose, his cheeks, before brushing a soft, gentle kiss over his lips. 

“Is that a yes?” Daniel whispers against his lips.

Johnny smiles, brushing his nose against Daniel’s. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “You’re stuck with me, LaRusso.” 

“I can live with that.” Daniel says before he leans up and kisses Johnny. 

Above them, fireworks go off, shouts of _happy New Year!_ flood the beach from the houses around them; in Times Square, the ball is dropping, Dick Clark is ringing in the New Year with Barry Manilow’s _It’s Just Another New Year’s Eve_ as the backing track to leaving 1984 behind and welcoming 1985 in with open arms.

But right here, on this very beach that started it all, a new beginning is taking place, too. Old wounds and new ones are soothed with warm kisses that burn and tingling their way down Johnny’s spine, curling low in his belly and leave him wanting more. Always wanting more.

“Happy New Year, Danny,” Johnny murmurs, stroking a gentle thumb over the curve of his cheekbone.

Daniel smiles, soft and serene. “Happy New Year, Johnny,” he whispers back before leaning up and capturing Johnny’s lips again. 

It sounds like healing, like a new beginning, a fresh start, the chance for a do-over, and Johnny grabs on to it with both hands, following Daniel back down into the sand with a happy hum.

_Happy New Year, indeed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for the love and support :) I really hope you guys liked it and feel free to let me know what you thought of it down below :) 
> 
> If you have any thoughts on what you might like to see from me in the future--prompt ideas or story ideas--I'm totally all ears. Like I said, I do have further plans for this but I would love to hear any ideas you guys have :)
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at victimofthemusic, don't be shy, come say hi to me on there, too :)
> 
> Until next time, my lovelies :)

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you guys liked it :) Let me know what you think :)
> 
> I plan to have the second chapter posted soon--within the next week or so, but I am getting busier with other things, so it might be delayed. I do have most of it done and written, I'm just working out a few more things and then I should be good to go :)
> 
> Until next time! :)


End file.
